HP & The Philosopher's Stone: The Time Jump Chronicles
by transgressions
Summary: Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived to Defeat Voldemort, Head Auror of the MLE, finds himself stuck in his 11-year-old body after a potions accident. How does 28-year-old Harry deal with being a First Year, with Voldemort rising back to power, and himself a Horcrux again? How does being sorted into Slytherin affect his relationship this time around with Snape? EWE. Slash.
1. The Time Jump

It made complete sense in hindsight. After Voldemort's fall in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, Harry – along with Ron – had been swept into Auror training with barely an acknowledgement of his consent. It was assumed that he wanted it, and it was assumed that he was ready for it. Perhaps Ron was, with his lust for adventure and desire for fame and respect. Harry, looking back, felt that perhaps he should have taken a long holiday instead.

After three years of training and a year working closely with Mentors, Harry and Ron were put on teams. They made good progress, and had excellent performance reviews. Harry was always keen to keep working, and his drive to further his career was what eventually drove Ginny away. But the more he worked, the less he had to think about everything that had happened, everyone that had died, and what it all meant to be The Boy Who Lived to Defeat Voldemort. After only a year on a team, Harry was promoted to a be a Leader, and took on his very own team of Aurors. Ron followed the year after. Harry's team eventually rose to the top, and took on the department's most critical missions. Then at only age twenty-four, he became a Mentor. He was leading the way with zero fatalities on his watch – no team members, and no criminals. There were whispers all through the Ministry that Harry Potter would be the next Head of Magical Law Enforcement when the current Head retired. At age twenty-seven, the Head retired and to no-one's surprise, Harry was promoted.

Which lead, he supposed – in a roundabout fashion – to his current situation, in the minister's office. Kingsley was staring at him mournfully over a stack of paperwork, his chin propped delicately on his interlocked fingers.

'I'm all right,' Harry asserted again. Kingsley sighed.

'You're not been cleared for duty, Harry.'

Harry scoffed, but didn't say anything. He didn't have a very strong argument.

'It won't happen again,' Harry said quietly, but he had been saying that all week. Nobody seemed to trust him.

'Be that as it may, I'm still required to put you on leave for at least two weeks.' The minister gave him a pointed look. 'You do what you want with that time, Harry, but I strongly suggest you get some help.'

'What then?'

Kingsley sighed.

'Then you will be re-evaluated. Until then, Stewart is pushing to put a doppelganger into service to prevent...panic.'

'You're joking,' Harry blurted. But Kingsley shook his head and stood. He took a small glass phial out of his pocket and popped it open, coming over to Harry and holding it out.

'One for each day, now.'

Harry looked up at Kingsley and delicately separated one fine hair and plucked it from his head, wincing at the pinprick of pain that followed. He placed it defiantly in the phial, and Kinglsey cocked his head.

'We will be seeing you Monday, then.'

With that, the minister strode out of his own office, leaving Harry alone.

* * *

Harry defaulted to Potions Duty now. Instead of purchasing from outside, the MLE department frequently sourced the work within its own walls. There was always someone out with an injury or on parental leave who was adequate enough at brewing and could restock the shelves. Polyjuice Potion, Mutamorph Potion, Pepper-Up Potion, Blood Replenisher, Veritaserum, various antidotes, and even a small batch of Felix Felicis was always on hand. While a certified doppelganger went around pretending to be Harry to prevent panic from the public and mayhem in the media, the real Harry sat at home brewing potions. Monday morning after dropping off another single hair with Kinglsey, he returned to his flat and set up a lab in his sitting room.

He still hadn't picked a counsellor that could help him with this so-called _post-trauma stress_ that Hermione seemed to think he had, but perhaps he would peruse some listings online. He wasn't entirely sure whether it would be better to have a wizarding counsellor or a Muggle counsellor, yet.

A batch of Felix Felicis was already in progress, so he checked on and saw it was coming along nicely. He smirked to himself in remembrance of his old Potions professor. He donned some dragonhide gloves and began prepping the intensive Mutamorph Potion.

The potion was developed as an alternative to Polyjuice Potion – only it created a body-swap situation instead of allowing you to take on another person's appearance. The magic worked into the potion, however, would only take hold if both parties were willing. It was a prime tool for Aurors working sting operations, or under cover. And frankly, Harry was surprised Kinglsey only wanted his hair for a Polyjuice. It would be harder to uncover a doppelganger in his actual body, after all.

Despite the safeguards, it was a highly controlled substance. A permit was required to brew, and anyone caught attempting to buy the ingredients to brew it would be taken into custody and questioned if they did not present their permit.

With initial ingredients combined, Harry pulled off his gloves and set a glass stirring rod to mix in slow revolutions, while lavender flames danced below the cauldron. The potion was simmering nicely. Harry went to his bookcase, remembering the Sorting Hat and how it had wanted to put him in Slytherin. Even without a Potions master as his Head of House, here he was, brewing potions for work. If only Snape could see him now. He pulled his ratty first year Potions textbook off a shelf, and smoothed the cover as he circled back to his potions. He let the book fall open in his hands as he got back to his cauldron of Mutamorph Potion. A gentle sift of something – dust, hair, assorted bits – trickled out of the spine. Right into his potion.

'No!' Harry shouted at once, snapping the book shut and throwing it aside. The potions glowed an ethereal blue and a plume of smoke exploded upwards, choking Harry instantly with a thick, chalky cloud. It filled his eyes, nose, and throat. He stumbled back, coughing and hacking. He let his eyes stream as he caught his breath. His eyes stung. His tears felt thick on his face. He wiped at his cheeks hastily, and felt viscous scum on his hands. _Bollocks_. He shut his eyes hard for a few seconds, and then opened his eyes. Still cloudy and streaming. He did it again, and there was no change. Clenching his eyes shut again, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his rapidly escalating anger.

Standing up straight, he let his breath out, distracting himself from his eyes by thinking about the mess he undoubtedly would have to clean up. He momentarily entertained the thought of burning the place to the ground and simply starting over. It would no doubt be a disaster.

He coughed once more, swayed with a slight dizziness, and opened his eyes. His breath left him like he'd been slapped right in the diaphragm. His eyesight was clear, but his flat was gone, and not in the burnt-down-starting-over way. Harry was standing in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The hall was full of students, candles floated overhead, and there were whispers.

' _Potter_ , did she say?'

' _The_ Harry Potter?'

Harry broke out in a cold sweat and wiped at his face, blinking several times. He looked all around him, but the scene remained stable. There was no potion residue on his hands. His cheeks were clean and dry. His eyes were no longer itching and burning.

'Mr. Potter, _please_. We are waiting.'

Minerva McGonagall was standing just at the edge of his field of vision, holding a scroll and the Sorting Hat. She smiled encouragingly as he turned to look at her. She gestured to a stool.

'Come now. You must be sorted. Sit.'

Someone behind him gave him a gentle push and Harry stumbled towards the stool. What was going on? Was he dreaming? Was he unconscious in his flat with potions left brewing? He sat heavily on the stool and started turning around in his seat when his vision was covered – the Sorting Hat was placed on his head.

'What is going on,' Harry thought wildly.

'You've been here before,' the Sorting Hat mused in his ear, with a trace of amusement. 'You're a step out of time, young man,'

'What?'

The Hat chuckled and Harry held himself rigid on the stool as sweat trickled down his back under his fresh school robes.

'You've had a potions accident!' the Hat prompted. Harry nodded. 'And now you are here, in your eleven-year-old body.'

'How do I get back?' Harry thought frantically.

'You can't,' the Hat said simply. 'The scenario that put you here cannot be replicated in reverse,' it explained.

Harry started to hyperventilate.

'Breathe, not-quite-so-young Potter. There are worse fates.'

But Harry wasn't listening. He pulled the Hat off numbly as it shouted 'SLYTHERIN!'

He froze. The Great Hall was silent. McGonagall looked confused, and Harry was finally able to turn around to look at the head table. Hagrid was there. Trelawney was there. Flitwick was there.

Dumbledore was there. Dumbledore looked as confused as McGonagall.

Snape was there. Snape looked disturbed.

Quirrell was there. A sharp pain shot through his scar.

With a strangled cry, Harry collapsed in a dead faint, the Sorting Hat still clutched in his hands.

* * *

Harry jerked awake suddenly, wrapped in a falling sensation, and found himself in bed. Sighing, he collapsed back into his pillows and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. It had been a dream, then. Perhaps he had not even started brewing yet today. But as he put his glasses on, he realized he was not in his bed in his flat, but was in a bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing. Quiet voices were speaking on the other side of a white curtain that had been drawn around his bed. Frowning, Harry reached for his wand, and whispered a spell to amplify the voices so he could hear them.

'Poppy says he's healthy. Blood sugar is stable. Must've been a shock to his system,' Harry heard Minerva McGonagall mutter.

'A shock to _all_ our systems,' Severus Snape added. 'How could the offspring of James and Lily Potter be a _Slytherin_ ,' he mused darkly.

'It is a tad concerning,' the voice of Albus Dumbledore admitted.

There was a pause.

'It's brilliant,' Snape said, obviously smirking. 'Potter must be rolling over in his grave.'

'That's enough, Severus,' Dumbledore said tersely.

At this point, Harry threw back the covers. He got out of bed and marched around the curtain, his robes rather wrinkled now.

'Ah, Harry,' McGonagall said with emphasized volume, instantly silencing Snape and Dumbledore's further bickering. 'How do you feel?'

Harry winced and shook his wand surreptitiously to end the spell, which had caused McGonagall's normal speaking voice to nearly deafen him. He took a deep breath.

'Strange,' he said at last, letting his breath out. 'But also hungry.'

Dumbledore smiled and with a silent nod, took his leave.

'Professor Snape will take you to get a snack and escort you to your dorms. He is Head of Slytherin House,' said McGonagall helpfully. She smiled at him, and followed Dumbledore out, giving one last look over her shoulder before disappearing through the doors.

'Please follow me, Mr. Potter,' Snape said smoothly, and they left the hospital wing.

'Next time you are in the Great Hall, I advise you to leave your histrionics at the door,' Snape instructed as they journeyed into the dungeons. He directed Harry into his office, and Harry obediently sat at the desk. Snape conjured up a tea tray piled with sandwiches, and a flask of pumpkin juice.

'The feast ended hours ago,' Snape explained as Harry loaded a small plate with sandwiches. 'It would be inappropriate to send you to bed on your first night with no supper. Once you are finished eating, I will take you to the Slytherin dormitory.'

'Thank you, sir,' Harry said between mouthfuls. It was emotionally overwhelming to be in Snape's presence. He found himself sneaking furtive glances, and if Snape noticed, he did not let on. His eyes burned with the promise of tears, and his head was spinning, so he tried not to think too much about the fact that it was Snape sitting right across from him.

'Were you not expecting Slytherin House?' Snape asked lightly as he passed the juice over.

Harry choked and coughed, pounding his chest and excusing himself.

'Ah, actually, that is practically the only thing that has made sense this evening,' Harry said with a half-smile, and Snape's eyes widened infinitesimally. 'The Hat said I would be a good fit for Slytherin, but also for Gryffindor.'

Snape eyed him shrewdly.

'That would seem contradictory, if you knew the Houses.'

Harry laughed, feeling tears building.

'Not in the least, if you knew me.'

There was a comfortable lull before Snape spoke again, allowing Harry to get control of himself.

'Have you done any reading for your classes yet?'

Harry nodded absently.

'Then what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

Harry held back a smile.

'Draught of the Living Death, sir,' Harry answered promptly, taking a drink of his juice. 'It's a powerful sleeping potion.'

Snape nodded in approval.

'Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?'

'In the stomach of a goat,' Harry said smugly, putting down his goblet to stare Snape down. 'It is, by itself, an antidote to most poisons.'

'What is the difference, then, between monkshood and wolfsbane?'

'They are names for the same plant, which is also known as aconite. It's the main ingredient of the Wolfsbane Potion.' Remembering he was supposed to be eleven years old, Harry looked up at Snape hesitantly. 'Right?'

Snape looked mildly impressed.

'You take after your mother,' he said softly, and Harry felt the sting of tears at his eyes again.

'Nobody says anything about her,' Harry said, unable to keep the bitter edge off his voice. 'Everyone always told me how much I look like my Dad.'

Snape gave him an appraising look.

'We were friends, she and I. I'm sure there are many things I can tell you about her.'

Harry wiped his hands on a napkin and pushed his chair back.

'I'd like that, sir.'

* * *

Later, as Harry climbed into a strange bed in a strange dormitory, he felt overwhelmed by homesickness. He desperately wished now that he had at least been sorted into Gryffindor, where he would at least have his familiar friends around him, instead of sleeping in a bed next to Draco bleeding Malfoy. Perhaps he could seek help from Snape, he thought. He drifted into a fitful sleep, wondering if the Sorting Hat had been right, and that he really was stuck here, in his eleven-year-old body.

And as he got ready for bed, the Head of Slytherin House considered his new student. Potter was an enigma. He reminded him strongly of Lily Evans, or perhaps even himself. Severus rolled his eyes at the fact that the boy looked so much like his father. He knew first hand that one shouldn't be judged only on their outward appearance, his hand curling softly around his left forearm as his thoughts swirled. He had, after all, ended up in Slytherin House.

The boy was a touch small for one his age, but nothing that couldn't be remedied with good food, sleep, and exercise. A nutritive potion did come to mind; he would have to speak to Poppy about it, seeing if Potter could be added to the list of students who received supplements in their food.

What Severus couldn't get over was the fact that Potter had been sorted into Slytherin. His sorting had taken the longest by far, and Potter's dramatic reaction had created an uproar. He had taken the boy to the hospital wing himself, letting Minerva and Albus continue to oversee the sorting. The boy had been pale, sweaty, and mostly unconscious except for the occasional nonsensical mumblings about _the Ministry_ , and his _flat_. Nothing that he nor Poppy had tried could get the boy to wake. So they let him be.

Not only had the boy been sorted into Slytherin, not only had he accepted it, but he had _expected_ it. He seemed to have a keen mind for potions, and had already gotten started on his reading. Indeed, Severus couldn't help wondering what the year would bring for The Boy Who Lived.


	2. Suspicious

Note: Beta-read by the wonderful your_resident_fujoshi over at AO3!

* * *

The first night, Harry barely slept. It took ages to relax, and then he tossed and turned, restless and uncomfortable. He had vivid dreams about the Battle of Hogwarts in his rare moments of sleep. He woke too early, feeling drained and out of sorts, and started to feel panicked when he realized where – and more specifically, when – he was. He could not be bothered to shower, and went through his first day as an twenty-eight-year-old first year with his head in a fog.

Harry was immune to the whispers and double-takes this time around. After all, he had dealt with six years of it already, plus the years of being The Boy Who Lived to Defeat Voldemort, and then a subsequently infamous Auror and Ministry official. The hissing whispers of children were nothing compared to his post-graduation life in the press. But he felt horribly alone. Ron seemed afraid to approach him, and he was nowhere near to showing up in Hermione's mind. He debated whether he should even attempt to forge friendships with either of his childhood friends, and had yet to settle it.

He was doomed to relive his life, it seemed, and Harry wondered who, if anyone, he would tell of his predicament. Any of his future school chums were without question off the table. They were so young! He still toyed with the idea of telling Snape, seeing if the man could offer any help, since part of him still refused to believe he was well and truly stuck. But now that he knew what was to happen, if he _was_ stuck, could he make a difference? Would he come out the other side better than the first time around? Warnings of changing time echoed around his mind. Perhaps he would make things worse.

Classes were easy, since he remembered a good portion of some of the information, and the rest was so basic it was a breeze to absorb. How had classes seemed so difficult at age eleven? No matter how foreign the information seemed, it was still incredibly simple. Even finishing his homework right after dinner felt like a vacation, and he operated automatically, his thoughts preoccupied with his situation rather than his History of Magic homework.

Sleep was difficult to get. The nightmares he suffered as an adult had followed him back into childhood. Bumping into a third year Cedric Diggory in the corridor one day had been terrible, and he had not gotten even a shadow of sleep that night. The dark circles under his eyes were so pronounced the next day, he used a glamour.

Transfiguration and Charms had him in the spotlight right away, as the lessons were child's play. He couldn't _not_ perform perfectly. He noticed infuriated, hurt looks from some of the high-achievers like Draco, but he kept getting singled out by the teachers as a _wonderful example_. It wasn't fair to the other students, so he scaled it back to the point where he mostly did nothing, or intentionally mispronounced spells. The teachers usually gave him a knowing look, though, and he consistently felt shamed into performing.

The first midnight astronomy class felt natural, since he often worked late, and an hour spent in the autumn chill staring at a beautifully black sky was intensely relaxing. Professor Sinistra's voice was soothing and unusually quiet, forcing the class to remain silent for the hour, and Harry cherished the time in the dark and quiet where he was not struggling to sleep.

But by Thursday evening, he was stumbling. After class, Professor Sinistra had escorted him to the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey had given him a dose of Dreamless Sleep. He slept through the night. He finally felt refreshed the next day, though the dark circles under his eyes still needed to be covered up.

And when the first Potions class came along on Friday, Harry truly felt like a fish out of water. He was one of the Slytherin favourites now; Snape asked the same questions that he had asked Harry in his original Gryffindor first year and again this time over tea sandwiches; it seemed they were a routine for the very first class. But now he focused on Neville Longbottom, who stammered and fingered helplessly at his Potions textbook, which he obviously hadn't cracked open. Hermione, still the same, frantically waved her arm in the air, desperate to prove her intelligence, but Snape – again – ignored her. Harry almost felt guilty. He felt like he should be protecting Neville, somehow, from Snape's harsh jeers, and from Draco's smothered giggles. But if not Neville, then who? At a time when he had few allies and fewer friends, Harry felt it wasn't the time to challenge Snape or his housemates. Not yet.

Snape put them into pairs and set them to making up a simple potion to cure boils, but this time Harry was stuck with Draco. The young blonde boy looked at Harry with disgust, but didn't say a word other than what he needed to communicate about the potion. He was a fair hand at brewing – no doubt tutored by his godfather – so Harry did not find it necessary to expand their conversation. Snape swept around the room criticizing everyone except Draco, and by default, himself. It was totally unnerving, and he shivered every time the Potions master passed by. Further down the row, Harry noticed Neville and Seamus' cauldron sizzling, and handed the stirring rod to Draco.

'Handle it,' Harry told Draco shortly, who started to make a sound of protest, but Harry was already moving to Neville and Seamus – arguing, panicked, over who was going to fix the mistake. Harry pushed them aside, his heart pounding in his ears, and grabbed some nearby lavender to reverse the addition of the porcupine quills. He put out the flame beneath the cauldron, and as the potion returned to the colour it should have been, Harry instructed Seamus to re-add the porcupine quills, which he did, looking at Harry oddly.

'Well, well, Potter, doing your classmates' work for them?'

Harry turned to the glowering figure behind him, quite unsure where this was headed. He was a Slytherin, yes, but he was also Harry Potter.

'Neville had added the porcupine quills before removing the heat source,' Harry said shortly. 'They were arguing instead of stemming the reaction. Sir.' His palms were sweating, and he could feel a tremor running through his whole body.

'Well spotted, Mr. Potter. Point to Slytherin.'

Snape swept away again, and Harry felt his mouth fall open. Seamus scowled at him, and Neville shot him a distrustful look. _What in Merlin's name had just happened?_

Feeling thoroughly unsettled after the strange Potions lesson, Harry resolved to try seeing Snape after his lessons finished that afternoon. Perhaps he would be willing to tell him more about his mother. Mostly, though, he simply wanted to spend some time with another adult.

Harry noticed Draco loitering in the hall after Charms let out, but he was able to shake the blonde boy by using a complicated path through the library, then going up a floor, and then back down through the secret stair, jumping nimbly over the trick step. He made his way back down into the dungeons, and was relieved to see that his efforts at shaking off his tail were not in vain. Snape was at his desk, organizing whatever work his last class of the day had handed in.

'Hullo, Sir,' Harry called from the doorway, and Snape looked up, darkness flickering across his eyes for a moment. But his expression remained the same, and he gestured Harry inside.

'Come in, Mr. Potter.'

Harry walked in, holding his breath, unsure of how to approach this situation. They were on tentative good terms. It was so strange.

'Sir, I was wondering if, perhaps, you had some free time?' Harry asked, hoping it didn't come across as whingeing. 'You said you were friends with my Mum, and I was hoping...'

Snape had finished tidying his desk, and folded his hands together.

'I did, didn't I?' he muttered, as if irritated he had ever made the offer. Harry took a step back.

'It's all right-'

'Sit _down_ ,' Snape said tightly. He relaxed once Harry had pulled up a seat to the desk. 'Tea?' he asked, and Harry nodded. He conjured a tea tray, and Harry sat rigidly, feeling uncomfortable, and afraid of what he had gotten himself into.

'Where did you learn to perform the glamour charm,' Snape said abruptly, picking up a large, brown teapot and pouring tea into two chipped mugs.

'How did you know?' Harry asked, accepting a mug.

'You looked like death warmed over on Wednesday, Potter, and Thursday you suddenly looked right as rain,' he said mildly. 'Madam Pomfrey tells me you've been having nightmares.'

Harry swallowed hard. He hadn't thought about how much the staff might talk amongst themselves about the students.

'Er, yeah. Nothing awful. Just enough to keep me awake. I should be fine now.'

Snape gave him a critical look, but let the matter drop.

'Do you know how to play chess?'

'Not very well,' Harry admitted with a half-smile. Snape did not look impressed.

'Your mother was a skilled chess player,' he said coolly. 'She frequently trounced your father, and even myself occasionally.'

'So does that mean you're a skilled chess player, too?' Harry said cheekily. Snape smirked.

'Care to find out?'

'Knowing I'm going to lose doesn't make this very appealing,' Harry told him, but Snape was already up and fetching a chess board.

Harry noticed a newspaper clipping under the edge of the stack of essays on the side of Snape's desk, a cutting from the _Daily Prophet_.

 _GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

 _Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July..._

 _Right_ , Harry thought, scanning the article and rubbing his face with his hands. The Philosopher's Stone had been moved to Hogwarts and Quirrell was plotting to steal it for Lord Voldemort. He supposed even if he wasn't truly trapped, he could try and foil the plot as long as he was here. Save his eleven-year-old self some trouble once he made it back to his own time. Snape was back quickly with the chess board, and told quiet stories of some of the games he had played with Lily Evans over the years at Hogwarts. Harry made sure to keep his questions to their first few years at Hogwarts – both to avoid any awkwardness, and to keep up the appearance that his knowledge was limited. As he wandered back to the Slytherin dorms later, Harry wondered briefly to himself how he could potentially work against Quirrell's plot – other than to steal the stone himself, as he had last time. He shook his head; there was so much to think about.

* * *

There was something not quite right about Potter. Severus was perturbed when Potter had quelled a dangerous reaction in his very first Potions class, and something about the boy had not sat well with the Potions master ever since. He had finally narrowed it down to the one thing that made the hair rise on the back of his neck every time he watched Potter in his class.

Potter was too _adult_.

The boy moved with the skilled ease of a seventh year student. No. The skilled ease of someone who brewed beyond the NEWT level. He brewed casually like someone who was around a cauldron at least once a week in their adult life, whether it was at home or at work.

Lily Evans certainly hadn't looked so graceful around a cauldron in her entire first year, let alone the first few classes. Neither did any of the children from old wizarding families, who were likely to be far more familiar with the art of brewing. Even noble young Draco, whom he had prepared by tutoring over the summer, was looking every year his age in Potions class.

But not Potter. He looked mature. Adult. Not only did he handle every tool, every ingredient, like he'd done it a thousand times before, but the boy held himself and moved with a poise that could only come with experience. Life experience. Though he lacked the exquisite finesse of a Potions Master, he was clearly not the Muggle-raised boy-wizard everyone expected.

He did not have particularly amazing strategies for chess, but Severus rarely had such close games with students younger than fifth year; he played with the confidence of an equal. Severus did not intimidate him in the way he did the other children.

Potter also knew and could use a seamless glamour charm that, aside from its sudden employment, would have been completely undetectable. Their conversation had been relatively easy, as though Potter were familiar. First year students were never familiar.

It made Severus suspicious.


	3. The Thief

Harry had almost forgotten about flying lessons until Draco pointed out the notice that had been posted in the Slytherin common-room.

'Are you daft, Potter?' the blonde had asked, when Harry had seemed surprised. His sleep had not improved over the days, and he had been back Monday night to get a potion from the hospital wing, even knowing that Madam Pomfrey would notify Snape, and that he could not continue to dose himself. Dreamless Sleep was not something you were allowed to self-medicate with, and certainly not at Hogwarts, and definitely not in first year. Getting on a broomstick was probably the last thing he needed right now.

Flying lessons started Thursday, and was with the Gryffindors. Harry smiled fondly. He remembered how the rivalry with Slytherin, and most specifically, Draco Malfoy, had been a huge part of his world in his first year. He had occasionally met Draco at parties and even out and about in Diagon Alley, shopping with his wife, in his own time. It wasn't awful seeing Draco. Granted, they were never terribly warm to each other, but there was finally a mutual understanding and respect. Like he wished he could have developed with Snape, had the man survived the war.

The beginning of the week passed quickly, and despite his sleep situation, Harry was actually looking forward to getting back on a broom again; it had been years. Training and work had taken up so much time. He had been envious of Ginny every time he went to see one of her Quidditch matches. To have gone into professional Quidditch – now there was a dream he hadn't even had time to entertain!

Draco's nonstop chatter about broomsticks and playing Quidditch was getting to him, though, since he started hearing it first thing in the morning when they woke up in their dorm room, and it went all day, throughout all classes. Eleven-year-old children could be so very obnoxious. As much as he felt lonely, he also couldn't stand to be around his so-called peers. He wondered how soon would be too soon to play chess with Snape again.

At breakfast on Thursday, Harry looked over to the Gryffindor table to see Hermione reciting all the flying tips she'd learned from _Quidditch through the Ages_ , with Neville hanging on her every word. Harry felt briefly sorry for them. The arrival of the post interrupted her lecture, to the relief of most of the students around her.

He was walking in, heading for the Slytherin table, when he saw that a barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. Neville opened it excitedly and was showing the students around him his new Remembrall. Harry's eyes widened when he saw the small object from across the hall.

'It's a Remembrall!' Harry could just hear him saying. 'Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red -oh ...' His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, '... you've forgotten something...'

Harry saw Draco snatch the Remembrall out of Neville's hand, and itched to curse the boy from across the room.

Ron jumped to his feet, but Professor McGonagall was there in a flash, having come up behind Harry.

'What's going on?'

'Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor.'

Scowling, Draco quickly dropped it back on the table.

'Just looking,' he said, and he sloped back towards Slytherin table, with Crabbe and Goyle behind him. Harry sat at the table, and Draco and his goons gave him a wide berth. He ate breakfast with a noticeable gap between himself and the other students.

* * *

At three-twenty that afternoon, Harry trailed after the rest of the Slytherin first years, down the front steps into the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns towards a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Gryffindors followed shortly after, and they all milled awkwardly around the twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry knew the school brooms were mostly terrible, but there were a few decent ones. If he could just remember to get the same one as he had last time.

Madam Hooch arrived.

'Well, what are you all waiting for?' she barked. 'Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.'

Harry glanced down at his broom, almost certain it was the same as last time. How the Gryffindor students had let him just nose his way between them, he wasn't exactly sure.

'Stick out your right hand over your broom,' called Madam Hooch at the front, 'and say "Up!"'

'UP!' everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, and he grinned. He saw Hermione's roll over, and Neville's hadn't moved at all.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Despite his current relationship with the twenty-eight year old Draco, he still felt pleased at Madam Hooch's correction of young Draco's grip, telling him he'd been doing it wrong for years. The boy was quite insufferable, really.

Ron grinned, too, and they shared a brief moment of joy between them.

'Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,' said Madam Hooch. 'Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down...'

Harry was watching Neville. He looked very nervous. Could he stop his accident from happening?

'On my whistle – three – two -'

Neville pushed off hard and Harry instantly jumped after him, Ron exclaiming in surprise beside him.

'Come back, boys!' Madam Hooch shouted. Neville was rising quickly, but Harry's experience trumped Neville's raw nerves, and Harry collided with him in midair, grappling the frightened boy and drawing his wand as they crashed back down into a strong cushioning charm that Harry cast at the last second. They tumbled over each other, laughing nervously, brooms askew; but neither brooms nor bodies broke. Though Neville was pale, his colour returned quickly as Harry helped him up, and he swiped his fallen Remembrall from the grass and tucked it back into his pocket. Madam Hooch approached them and dusted them off, nodding a slightly bemused thanks to Harry before setting them back into the line.

Of course, Harry now realized, the slight burst of adrenaline fading, things were on a much different course. He wasn't leaving the class, for one, so he would get to see how the entire first lesson played out. For two, he was not instantly granted a place on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, since he had done no grandiose manoeuvre on his broom, nor was he even a member of Gryffindor House.

The lesson, as it went, was fairly straight forward. Madam Hooch coached them on the basics of flying, and then she slowly worked them through some emergency dismount techniques, as well as some handy spells, much like the cushioning charm Harry had used earlier. They finished up with some broom maintenance, and they all carried their brooms to the storage cupboard, learning the best way to store a broom. All in all, it was fairly unexciting, especially to someone who had spent years already flying on Gryffindor's Quidditch team. Harry spent most of the time feeling uneasy. There would be no Quidditch. There would be no Oliver Wood welcoming him onto the team. There would be no bonding with the Gryffindor players. Nothing.

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon by himself in the library, wondering nervously if he had overstepped. He would try and get back to his own time without doing too much damage to the timeline. But had things changed too much already, with his sorting? When would be a good time to reach out to Snape? Could he get Snape's help without telling him the real story? His own search among the library stacks was proving to be difficult, seeing as how the Mutamorph Potion had not been patented until 2004, and its inventor likely hadn't started working on it until at least 2000. He tried not to dwell on anything too long, and left before his thoughts could run away with him. But it made research difficult. Despite being a proficient brewer, he had a limited grasp of the deeper intricacies of potions.

He finally made his way to dinner, saying a friendly hello to Hermione as they passed in the Entrance Hall. She flushed and Parvati, who was walking next to her, leaned in and hissed something into her ear, causing her blush to deepen. Harry rolled his eyes; no doubt everyone would think he was sweet on her, just because he treated her nicely. She was his future best friend, though. He couldn't help it.

He sat alone, again. It was getting a little tedious, this ostracizing from _everyone_. Gryffindors seemed distrustful when he was friendly, and Slytherins were merely suspicious of him in general. This life was proving to be unrelentingly boring, and incredibly lonely.

On his way to bed, Harry stopped by the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey seemed to know him just from the sounds of his footsteps, having been in to see her five times already this year. Her hands were on her hips as he approached, and she looked disappointed.

'I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but if you're here for more potion, I cannot give it to you.'

Harry stopped. He hadn't anticipated being denied his request. Not this soon.

'You cannot use Dreamless Sleep more than three nights in a row,' she continued, sitting at her desk and smoothing her hands over a small stack of student files. 'You need to dream.'

'All right,' Harry agreed, not at all resigned to her pronouncement. 'Thanks anyway.'

He shuffled out of the hospital wing feeling deflated. He was starting to feel tired again, but in a different way than he felt when he tossed all night, never sleeping more than a few minutes at a time. It hadn't been this bad since Samson had died. He rubbed at his left forearm in memory as he slunk into the Slytherin dorm and went to bed without speaking to anyone.

He woke screaming. The curtains around his bed shuddered with the sound. His scar was burning, and his face was wet with tears. The whole bed was soaked with his sweat, and Harry shivered, sitting up and tucking himself to his knees, trying to get control of his breathing. It had been the graveyard scene again, but it was third year Cedric who had been killed. So young. The spells on the drapes thankfully kept Draco asleep across the room. A few charms later, and Harry was warm and dry, and sneaking out of the Slytherin dorm.

In his desperation, he covered himself in spells. Notice-me-not, de-smelling, and a disillusionment charm, mostly all to discourage notice by Mrs Norris. Most humans he could avoid. Animals – especially cats, he'd noticed – were harder to avoid.

Sneaking into the hospital wing was easy, but getting into the medicine cabinet was difficult. After a series of delocking spells, Harry had to disassemble a complex ward. Once that was done, he pulled out several Dreamless Sleep potions – enough to get him through until he could finish a batch himself – and then began the work to re-lock and re-ward the cabinet.

It was more than an hour later when Harry crept back into bed, downing a potion and spelling his curtains shut again, relaxing at last.

* * *

Severus hated the teacher's lounge. The ante-chamber off the side of the Great Hall was usually kept in the fashion of a casual sitting room, with squashy armchairs and tables, allowing the teachers to gather casually after dinner, before breakfast, or for any staff meetings. It was definitively decorated in Albus' personal style.

He hated it on a good day, and a good day was one where he was the only teacher within it. But today, a large portion of the staff were gathered inside, standing around talking excitedly about one Harry Potter. Two weeks into classes, and Severus' suspicions about Potter had deepened.

'Every time,' Minerva was saying, looking torn between exasperation and pride, 'he's not really paying attention, and then when I call upon him to demonstrate-' Minerva tossed her hands up, '-he does it. _Perfectly_.'

Her eyes lit upon Severus, as he tried to creep around the room without being noticed, to deliver a missive to Filius from the Headmaster.

'Severus! Do you also find Potter to be an able student in your classes?'

Several teachers involved in the discussion turned to look at him expectantly, and he scowled at the attention, but swept over to them nonetheless. He would hear what they had noticed, and compare his own observations to theirs.

'I do. Curiously, there seems to be very little I can teach at the first year level that he does not grasp immediately, if he does not understand it before the lesson even begins,' Severus said, carefully watching the expressions of the other teachers.

Pomona nodded enthusiastically.

'He sure is a talented one,' she agreed readily. 'Gifted, even.'

A few other heads nodded and Severus felt his head begin to ache. _Gifted._ He withdrew from the conversation, and delivered the missive he had come for to Filius before attempting to exit.

The boy was not gifted, as they all ignorantly believed; he was already skilled. He already knew what he was being taught. The Granger girl from Gryffindor, Severus could admit that perhaps _she_ was gifted. She displayed a drive to learn and demonstrable growth in her knowledge and skills.

Potter was not gifted. Potter just seemed bored. Like he knew it all already.

Poppy hurried into the lounge as he attempted to exit. She gestured him towards herself, moving into a quiet corner away from the general discussion still going on. As soon as he was close enough, she whispered, 'It's about Mr. Potter.'

Of course it was about Potter. It was always about Potter. But she looked concerned.

'Mr. Potter has been using Dreamless Sleep this whole week,' she said briskly. Severus had a very poor idea of what she was about to say.

'Last night before curfew he came by the hospital wing again, and requested yet another dose. I refused, told him it was not for long term use, and he said thank you and went to bed. Lo and behold, this morning I am six phials short.' She gave him a pointed look, as if he might not make the same logic leap that she did. Then her expression turned sharp. 'I have no idea who assisted him with opening the cabinet, though. Even the ward was back in place this morning.' She had said it wondrously, almost as if she were impressed.

Severus scowled.

'He will be dealt with, and you will receive a replacement batch in short order.'

Poppy touched his arm lightly, her face creasing with worry.

'Go easy on him, Severus,' she said quietly. 'He must be suffering to risk using it so much.'

Severus gave a nod, and after class that morning, he told Potter to stay where he was as the other students filed out. The Weasley boy shot Potter a sympathetic look, but left the classroom with the others nonetheless.

Potter looked calm and ready for whatever Severus might deal out. Like he expected to be caught. But as the last student left and the door closed, Potter heaved a sigh.

'I suppose this is about the potion I stole?'

'Not very Slytherin to immediately confess,' Severus said mildly. Potter grinned.

'Well, I figured she'd go easier on my stealing potion than you would for stealing ingredients to brew it. Should've known she would tell you anyway.'

There was a long silence that hung in the air between them as Severus waited for an explanation. None came.

'An explanation of your delinquency would go a long way in reducing your sentence,' Severus ground out impatiently. 'I do not appreciate recalcitrance.'

'I would've thought that had been obvious, sir,' Potter replied, his jaw set.

Severus stood at his desk.

'You are, I'm certain, aware of how addictive Dreamless Sleep is?'

'Very,' Potter said softly, his face softening.

'I see,' was what he said, sitting back down. 'What are you avoiding dreaming about, then?'

Potter made eye contact only for a moment before looking away. The brief glance into those green eyes took Severus' breath away. The glamours couldn't hide the pain.

'Oh, usually Voldemort,' Potter said flippantly. 'People dying. That sort of thing.'

Severus reeled. Did the boy truly remember his parents' deaths?

'So you see,' Potter explained lightly, licking at his dry lips, 'I need the potion.'

Severus was stunned, and he was beginning to resent the emotional peaks and valleys the boy was sending him through.

'It is Madam Pomfrey's policy that-'

'Damn her policy!' Potter shouted suddenly. He composed himself again instantly, curling his lips into his mouth, but his eyes were bright with anger.

'Language, Potter,' Severus hissed. 'Point from Slytherin.'

Potter turned away for a moment, taking a shaking breath.

'Dreamless Sleep is addictive. Since you are clearly already under the delusion that you cannot sleep without it, it would behoove you to cease dosing yourself.'

'I know that,' Potter spat, turning back. 'Just... please give me some time!'

Severus narrowed his eyes.

'If you think you deserve special treatment, your ego obviously has no equal. Save your father.'

Potter glared at him, and Severus felt smug that he'd hit a nerve. The boy did look so much like him, after all.

'Oh yes, your father thought he was above the rules, too.'

'And you were _Prince_ Charming, of course,' Potter said sarcastically. Severus felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as Potter's posture changed. 'Or maybe you were just a nasty little _half-blood?_ ' The boy had taken a step forward, and had he not been eleven years old and little more than four feet tall, he would have been quite intimidating.

'Detention. Tonight,' Severus said slowly, smothering his fear. 'And you will bring all six phials of Dreamless Sleep with you.'

'I already used one,' Potter said, his lip curling. 'And I already told you I'd need time.'

'Time for _what_ , exactly?' Severus snapped, his patience wearing thin. Potter was being entirely too vague, and it was irritating him to no end. His shoulders ached with the tension in his body.

Potter rolled his eyes. 'To brew more.'

'You will do no such thing,' Severus told him. 'Detention. Tonight. Seven o'clock.'

Potter didn't even try to fight this time. He just sighed, shaking his head. He pulled his books off the desk, and walked out of the classroom.

For the first time, Severus felt uncertain as to whether his student would actually show up for detention that evening, and what he would do should that scenario arise.


	4. Outed

N.B.: Beta read by the impeccable MrsMJP from AO3!

* * *

Harry did not hand over the remaining phials of Dreamless Sleep. He knew, even if Snape didn't, that while this body did not have the same addiction to the potion that his older body did, he definitely had a psychological dependency on it. Despite that, adding a physical addiction was a risk he was willing to take. It was more difficult to control himself – emotions, magic – when he was exhausted. He couldn't slip up.

He had tried to learn Occlumency, even after Voldemort was gone. He'd read books, and studied with Hermione. Even as brilliant as she was, she did not have the same comprehension of the art like Severus Snape did. She was also a poor Legilimens. And so Harry had failed again, and finally given up. Without the threat of Voldemort, there was no reason to continue struggling with it. It was potions or nothing.

'Where is the potion?'

Snape did not look impressed. His hands were together, his fingers separated and pressed fingertip to fingertip.

'I think we already went over this,' Harry said, lifting his chin. Snape's eyes narrowed.

'For your detention today, you will be brewing Dreamless Sleep.'

Dreamless Sleep wasn't brewed until fifth year, due to the potential for more volatile reactions than a basic sleeping draught. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes, but nodded.

'Do you have a copy of Jigger's _Magical Draughts and Potions_?' Harry asked. Snape's lip curled. 'I wasn't expecting to brew at a detention, is all.'

'No. I don't.'

'Budge's _Book of Potions_ , then? Sleeping Draught is in that one, too, I think.'

'Do you mean to say that you can brew Dreamless Sleep by extrapolating from the Sleeping Draught recipe?' Snape looked sceptical. Harry smirked.

'Can't you?' Harry said innocently.

Snape, refusing to rise to the bait, went to a shelf, pulling down a tome that Harry, at his current height, would have had no hope in reaching. He dropped it in front of Harry, the book smacking with a loud clap onto the desk. He gave Harry a challenging look, and stood back.

'Begin,' Snape instructed.

'How long do I have?' Harry asked, trying to squelch his smile. Snape raised an eyebrow.

'Forty minutes.'

'Do you have a copper cauldron I can borrow, then?'

Snape only pointed.

* * *

One could brew a Sleeping Draught in a copper cauldron in twenty minutes, or Dreamless Sleep in thirty. When Potter requested the recipe for a Sleeping Draught, Severus felt his suspicion rising again fiercely. He had planned to grade papers while Potter floundered with the advanced recipe that could not simply be learned by reading two weeks ahead. Yet here the boy was, requesting the exact tools he would use himself: a copper cauldron and a glass stirring rod. This _child_ was going to attempt to brew Dreamless Sleep from a textbook that didn't even contain the correct recipe? Preposterous.

Of course, one only had to brew a Sleeping Draught and a Dreamless Sleep a few times before realizing they were almost the same, but they did have important differences. With Dreamless Sleep, a glass stirring rod was necessary. And, as he could see Potter coming out of the store room, the addition of opium and dried iris petals at key points in the brewing process created the dreamless quality of the potion's effects. Added at the wrong time, it could explode disastrously, or melt through the cauldron.

His mind argued against itself; there were several reasonable explanations for Potter's knowledge and skill, especially in regards to his current task. But there was always the ever-present statement of fact: Harry Potter was an eleven-year old boy who had been raised by muggles. Even with the excuses of memorization, talent, the simplicity of the task, even supposing Potter had an eidetic memory, he was still just a boy.

So instead of grading papers, Severus found himself observing Potter. He seemed even more at ease than usual, brewing with only brief glances at the textbook open beside him. With a final wand wave, exactly thirty minutes later, Potter had a cauldron full of perfectly purple Dreamless Sleep. He handed it over reluctantly, and it suddenly occurred to Severus that if Potter was addicted to the stuff, it made sense that he could brew it himself. There had been time enough to brew it this year already. Perhaps he had been unable to obtain more ingredients. But where had a first year learned to brew it? Why had he even started using it? Every excuse or assumption only came with more questions.

'So? How did I do?' Potter asked smugly, and Severus was barely able to get control of his sneer to keep it in check. It wouldn't do to be overtly suspicious (or jealous) of a student.

'Well done,' he smoothed over. 'Though your over-confidence may get the better of you someday, Mr. Potter.' It was difficult to avoid comparing him, detrimentally, to his father. But James Potter had been a different sort of braggart; the younger Potter had a confidence of skill, while the senior had a confidence of ego.

'Is that all I need to do for my detention?' Potter asked, suddenly looking anxious. Severus revelled in the return of his power.

'Yes, for tonight.'

'Tonight?'

'Yes. You will serve a detention with me for two evenings for each potion you stole.' He had expected the boy to look more upset, but he seemed almost pleased by the idea.

'Of course, sir.'

'You could always return them and reduce your sentence, of course.'

Potter smiled weakly, and began cleaning up.

The boy occupied more of his thoughts than any student ought to, and he hadn't yet figured out if Potter was a threat or not. He was almost less trusting of the eleven-year-old boy in front of him than he was of Quirrell, a man almost completely changed since his sabbatical in Albania.

* * *

Friday night Harry had wrapped his bed in spells and let himself dream. He knew it was unhealthy to go too long without dreams – bad or good – and with no work, no meetings, and no press to haunt his footsteps, he could get away with a more or less sleepless weekend. He woke from a restless sleep late Sunday morning to find Draco staring at him, sitting full dressed on his own bed. The boy made a face before darting out of their room.

A weekend foray into the library revealed nothing new on the subject of time travelling via potion. Any additional reading would require a special pass to the Restricted Section, or a visit to the bookstore in Hogsmeade – which would require an adequate disguise and a trip through one of the many tunnels out of Hogwarts.

Harry owl-ordered several batches worth of ingredients for his own Dreamless Sleep, as well as a copper cauldron and glass stirring rod, since they were certainly not part of the first year potions kit. He had used a school owl, unable to face Hedwig just yet.

Sunday evening he was feeling the effects of his lack of sleep, and he almost made a mistake with his brewing in detention. Snape had caught his hand as it hovered over the cauldron with the dried iris petals.

'Wait,' he hissed. The potion turned colour a moment later, and Snape released his hand, allowing the petals to fall. Harry's hand tingled, and he wavered for a moment. Nobody had touched him in weeks.

Harry tensed, waiting for the cutting remark, or insulting comment. But none came.

Monday came too early. While he had slept the night before thanks to the potion, it wasn't the quality he needed and he was still lacking from the weekend. Thankfully, the potion for Monday's class was simple, and Harry could have brewed it half-asleep. After Seamus Finnigan answered a question incorrectly, Harry offered the correct answer, and flushed slightly when Snape stared at him for a brief moment before giving a point to Slytherin. Setting up for the brewing with Draco on one side, and Seamus Finnigan on the other, Harry was content to stay silent as the class murmured quietly around him.

'Very well done, Potter. Another point to Slytherin.'

The professor continued on down the row, but Harry looked up at him with a tired smile, feeling warm in his cheeks. Turning back to his potion, he had to agree. It _was_ well done. And Snape had _noticed!_ He sighed softly to himself.

'Oi,' someone whispered a moment later. 'Potter!'

Harry looked up. Seamus was staring at him, a malevolent gleam in his eyes. Ron was on his other side, craning his neck around to see.

'You fancy him?'

Seamus' eyes glanced to Snape, and landed back on Harry, waggling his eyebrows. Harry coughed, trying to cover the flush he felt on his face. Damn his exhaustion.

'Ha! Potter _is_ a pouf!'

A twittering giggle eventually swept through almost the entire house of Gryffindor. Only Neville and Hermione seemed immune. Ron laughed the loudest. Harry felt his pulse quicken, and he felt betrayed by a friend he hadn't even made yet.

'A pouf I can believe, but for _Snape!?_ ' Dean said in a stage whisper to Seamus. Ron guffawed. Harry slammed a fist into his desk. The class fell silent.

'What seems to be the problem?' Snape drawled, coming up from behind him.

'Nothing, sir,' Seamus said, staring Harry down. 'Nothing at all.'

'Good.'

The class was dismissed, and Harry left the classroom without looking at Snape, but he flushed anyway. Snape had called Draco to the front and was focused on discussing something with him. Harry slunk around the doorway, making sure the Gryffindors were already gone before exiting. He was running late for Herbology, and scurried down the corridor.

'Potter!'

Draco was running, calling after him.

'Potter, wait! _Harry!_ '

Harry slowed his stride and allowed Draco to catch up. It was strange to hear his given name in Draco's prepubescent voice.

'Look, Severus Snape is a good man,' Draco huffed as he came around and stopped abruptly in front of Harry. He almost bumped into him, and stopped right in front of the blonde boy. They stood toe to toe for a tense moment before Harry coughed and took a step back.

'Those gits,' Draco said with disgust, moving to Harry's side as they began walking again. 'They wouldn't recognize good taste if it bit them on the arses.'

'I appreciate it, Draco,' Harry said with a snort. 'But I'm- Snape's old enough to be my father,' he protested weakly.

'Once you've graduated it won't matter,' Draco said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Twenty years is nothing.'

'Well, then, I'm not going to bank on him still being available,' Harry said with a sad laugh. His age _really_ didn't matter, since he was actually only a few years younger than Snape at this time. His biggest arguments against Snape were ones he could not divulge.

They continued to Herbology in companionable silence. Just before entering the greenhouse, Draco paused.

'Severus hasn't had anyone in the past decade,' he said quietly. 'I doubt the next will be any different.'

Being the last ones into class, Professor Sprout paired them together and got them working right away.

'Thanks, Draco,' Harry said with a hesitant smile. Draco gave him a sour look.

'Don't let them drag you through the mud, Potter,' he said, grimacing as he dug his own hands into some mud. 'You're of Slytherin house. Bloody well act like it.'

* * *

When Harry's supplies finally showed up packaged in his requested plain brown paper, Harry was tempted to feign illness and set up his illicit brewing station instead of classes. He had the feeling, though, that Snape was watching him like a hawk. Probably best to go to class.

Instead, he skipped dinner. He had his second to last detention that night at seven, so in his few free hours, he barricaded himself in the second floor girls' toilet, and set up not one, but two brewing stations.

In the first stall, he set up a cauldron to brew Dreamless Sleep. In the last stall, he set up a cauldron to begin the longer process of brewing an Ageing Potion. It was similar to Polyjuice in that it took weeks to brew, yet had a relatively short duration of action. It would last only twenty-four hours unless reversed with its antidote.

Harry craved the company of adults, even if only for small talk. Even if only to not be treated like a child. Snape never coddled, but there was a difference between how he spoke to his colleagues and his students. He also wanted, more than he was willing to admit, some physical contact. No one touched him. While Draco was making overtures of friendship, he certainly never touched him. Even a brotherly slap on the shoulder would have been welcome. He was starved for physical affection, and it was almost as much of a drain as the lack of sleep. Perhaps looking like an adult again would make it easier to seek that out, even from a stranger.

With the addition of a few glamours and careful disguise spells, an Ageing Potion would walk him right into the darker sections of the bookstore in Hogsmeade, and he could potentially travel even further if he could get to a public Floo. Small steps to begin. He would start with the bookstore.

* * *

Potter finished his last batch of Dreamless Sleep for his last detention. Severus didn't feel any further along in figuring the boy out. He seemed to be developing a friendship with Draco Malfoy, which was good; it would make him less vulnerable to the Gryffindor bullies.

'How are the nightmares?'

Potter looked startled by the question. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

'You should have run out of the potion you stole by now. How are you coping?'

'Fine,' he said in a voice that said things were anything _but_ fine.

The boy seemed agitated, and didn't seem keen to stay and talk as he usually did, so Severus let him leave, but followed him out of the dungeons. It was a Tuesday night, what on earth could he need on the second floor at this hour?

Severus was even more perplexed – and suspicious – when he saw Potter look around before ducking into a girls' toilet. Drawing his wand, he headed in after him.

He was not entirely surprised when he crept up behind Potter puttering around in a stall working over what looked to be a potions work bench.

'What is this?' Severus hissed, causing Potter to jump. He turned around and grew very red, but said nothing.

'A clandestine potions operation, Potter?' There was a floating shelf covered in small phials of purple potion. 'Instead of stealing more, I see you endeavoured to simply brew it yourself.' As the boy had, indeed, threatened to do. He plucked a bottle of potion down and tilted it in the dim light. It looked perfect.

'It's not against the rules,' Potter said defensively.

'Brewing in a toilet?' Severus asked, raising an eyebrow. 'I suppose the Headmaster did not expect to need a rule _against_ it.' Potter crossed his arms. 'Be that as it may, you are brewing a controlled substance.'

'It's not controlled,' Potter said hotly, pushing past him out of the stall. 'It isn't on the Ministry's _Controlled Potions and Ingredients_ list!'

Severus almost rolled his eyes at the fact that Potter knew about the list. Of course he knew. He knew everything.

'It is controlled by the matron of the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey. Therefore, within Hogwarts, it _is_ a controlled substance.'

Potter made a growling sound of frustration. He took a deep breath.

'Am I in trouble?'

'If you give it up willingly, no,' Severus agreed. He did not wish to enforce more detentions any more than Potter no doubt wanted to serve them. If the punishment was two detentions for every phial... _Merlin_. He'd be stuck with Potter until Easter.

Potter sighed.

'I can't sleep, though,' he said softly, his voice edging close to a piteous whinge. But then he brightened, as if suddenly having an inspirational thought. 'Would you teach me Occlumency?'

Severus slowly collected the seemingly endless doses of Dreamless Sleep the boy had on his floating shelf, intending to check them all and – if acceptable – stockpile them for Madam Pomfrey. He had no idea how Potter knew about Occlumency, let alone knew to ask _him_ out of all the teachers at Hogwarts for instruction.

'I mean, would it even help, do you think? The nightmares?'

He looked back at Potter once all the potion was rounded up, and the little bottles almost slipped from his hands. Potter had dropped his glamour.

The boy's face was white. His cheeks were hollowing, and he had dark purple shadows under his eyes. How he was still even standing, Severus didn't know.

'Yes, it would. Friday evening. Seven o'clock. Merlin knows I could use a break from your company,' Severus grumbled as he swept out of the bathroom. But he knew with the excuse of Occlumency lessons, he would get a first-hand look at who Harry Potter really was, and what, exactly, he was after.


	5. Panic at the Owlery

A/N: Bit of a longer chapter, just FYI. Beta-read and kept on track by the fantastic TheHelpfulNeighborLady from AO3! She also contributed Dumbledore's suggestion of H.G. Wells. The MA-rated version of this chapter is available on AO3 under the same author name and title.

* * *

Sighing, Harry stood in the middle of the girls' toilets, completely deflated. His sleeping potions were gone, but he had an official agreement with Snape to learn Occlumency. It was almost worth delaying his return to learn Occlumency from a master.

He glanced to the other end of the room, where his _other_ clandestine potions operation remained safe. Of the two, the Dreamless Sleep was the lesser to lose. Properly dosed with Ageing Potion, Harry could walk into an apothecary and buy all the Dreamless Sleep he wanted. No one would bat an eye. Looking around to make sure Snape wasn't about to pop back in, Harry crept down to the other stall and checked on his potion. It would be finished in three days; timed perfectly to begin the antidote: Shrinking Solution. Suddenly, being a loner wasn't such a bad thing. Having no friends meant nobody would notice his absence from the castle when everything was ready.

He still missed Ron and Hermione, though. Hermione would be the perfect research partner, and would likely already have found anything that was available in the library. He didn't have the same patience for reading that his friend had. Ron likely would have already gone after Snape himself, blustering with bravery but no subtlety. Of course, first year Ron and Hermione were more of a liability than a help concerning his current situation, but at least he wouldn't be alone.

Harry sat next to his bubbling Ageing Potion for several minutes, recalling another potion brewing in that very stall, almost sixteen years in his past.

* * *

The first year class that morning had been quiet. Potter looked freshly glamoured, if a bit thin, and didn't speak at all during the class. He had been forced to deduct a point from Slytherin when they boy had only answered one of his questions with a shrug. But instead of calling him up after class, he called Draco. As class was dismissed, the only students out the door faster than Potter were the Gryffindors.

'Draco, I have a favour to ask. I want you to look out for Potter.'

'Father already told me to,' Draco smirked. 'He wants to see how a Slytherin Harry Potter turns out.'

'Don't we all,' Severus muttered. He leaned forward slightly in earnest. 'Have you noticed anything I should be concerned about?'

'He has nightmares,' Draco frowned, watching Potter slip out the door. 'He screams at night sometimes. Calls out names. Sometimes, though...' Draco shook his head, eyes wide. 'Sometimes he's quiet as the dead.'

Severus knit his brows in consternation.

'What names?'

Draco looked up as he recalled.

'Mum. Dad.' He looked at Severus and frowned. 'Like _his_ mum and dad, not mine.' Severus rolled his eyes when Draco looked back up. 'Matthew. Remus. Sirius. Cedric.' Draco locked eyes with Severus. 'And you.'

'What?'

'Once,' Draco said innocently. 'I heard him say your name once.'

Severus frowned. 'Anything else?'

Draco looked away.

'The Gryffindors take the piss out of him for being a pouf.'

'Language,' Severus admonished. He heaved a sigh. 'Thank you, Draco.'

The students for his next class started filtering in, and he dismissed his young godson. Remus and Sirius. Not Lupin and Black, surely? Sirius Black was locked up in Azkaban, and as far as he knew, Remus Lupin had self-ostracized himself from Potter in repentance for not realizing that Black was the betrayer. But who were Matthew and Cedric? And why had Potter said his own name in his nightmares?

* * *

With plans to do a bit of research on Time Turners in the library the next day, under the guise of doing homework, Harry happened to pass by Ron in the corridor outside the Great Hall. It was the first time he'd seen him alone since that potions class when he had been more or less outed, so he seized the opportunity immediately.

'Didn't take you for a bigot, Ron,' he said loudly as Ron walked by. The taller boy stopped and turned, with a characteristic Ron-scowl.

'Didn't think you were bent,' Ron said.

Harry shook his head.

'I thought we were friends,' he said quietly. Ron's scowl softened.

'Me too,' he admitted. Then his eyes hardened. 'But it looks like you figured out who the wrong sort are.'

'This is about _Draco?_ ' Harry asked, recognizing his own words from so long ago.

'Oh, it's _Draco_ now, is it?' Ron hissed, stepping forward. 'Sweet on him, too, then?'

A girl passed by them, and Harry recognized her as a Ravenclaw third year. She eyed them warily as she entered the Great Hall.

'Yes,' Harry snapped, once she was gone. 'We _happen_ to be on speaking terms as we are in the same _house_ , and sleep in the same _room_.'

Ron wrinkled his nose.

'Eurgh,' he said, and Harry couldn't help the short bark of laughter that escaped him. Ron snorted, but regained his composure.

'But that's what it comes down to,' Ron said, sadly. 'You're a Slytherin.'

Harry stared at Ron as he turned, and walked through the doors to the Great Hall. His friend through thick and thin, having overcome so much together, was leaving him alone in the corridor.

* * *

With no detention to keep him occupied and his research stalled for the moment, Harry let his feet stray, and he found himself in an area of the castle he had been avoiding. He froze on the stairs. Every once in a while, he found himself overwhelmed by Snape's presence. He felt moved to tears when he saw the Weasley twins together. Seeing Dumbledore left him with an ache in his heart, but he had avoided seeing _her_ until now.

Swallowing thickly, tears pricked his eyes as he climbed into the quiet of the Owlery. Most owls were out, but Hedwig sat on her perch like a ghost. Her eyes opened when he came in, and on soft wings, she swooped down to his outstretched arm.

A sob escaped him, and he sank to his knees right there on the dirty floor, holding his arm steady for his friend. Hedwig half-spread her wings to keep balance on his shaking form, staring at him with owlish concern.

'Oh, Hedwig,' Harry muttered, his free hand hesitantly brushing the feathers of her breast. She clicked at him and nibbled at his finger, as if to reassure him that she was, indeed, real and here. But she asked no questions.

Harry took a shuddering breath and tipped his arm towards his lap, gently persuading her to clamber down onto one of his thighs. She obliged, and they sat together in silence, Harry simply stroking her wings, her breast, and the sides of her face, basking in her presence. She was here. She was real. She was alive.

With Hedwig warming his stomach as he sat, Harry let his tired mind wander. Occlumency, while a necessary strategy right now, was also incredibly dangerous. He was terrible at occluding, and Snape was a very talented Legilimens. But he needed both assistance with sleeping as well as with recreating the Mutamorph Potion, so he needed to form a bond with Snape. He felt like he was spiralling out of control, and it wouldn't do to have another breakdown. Not here. Not now.

A quiet chirrup from Hedwig stirred Harry from his thoughts. Night had fallen, and the Owlery had grown cold. Hedwig, patient for so long, shifted on his lap, and looked up at him with her large, yellow eyes. Harry's heart hurt suddenly. Her eyes would be dead soon. No, they _were_ dead. This was the past.

A pair of vacant brown eyes flashed in his mind's eye, and he tried to block out the image. But he couldn't stop thinking about them.

Harry bolted to his feet with a strangled shout, Hedwig launching herself up from his lap with an indignant screech, flying up and out of the nearest window. His heart was pounding, and pain throbbed through his sore legs. Tears were overflowing from his eyes, and his chest felt tight. He put his hands on the wall, his head down between his arms, and he struggled to catch his breath.

'Potter? What are you doing?'

It was Draco. But Harry couldn't turn to look, he could barely stay on his feet. He panted and gasped, and shook his head. He felt a tentative hand on his back.

'All right, there, Potter?'

Draco leaned down, looking up at Harry from underneath his arm.

'I can't...breathe,' Harry gasped. He tossed his head back, feeling the tears running down his face, unbidden. He wished he could stop. Or hide. Draco stepped back, looking alarmed.

'What do you mean, you can't breathe?' Draco asked stupidly.

'Snape,' Harry croaked, his knees buckling beneath him. He slid to the floor as Draco nodded and dashed out, a letter still clutched in his hands.

A keening wail escaped Harry instead of breath. He grasped at his chest and his legs, his fingers weakly clawing at himself in confused need. He needed something – anything – to keep him here. His body felt like it was going to collapse in on itself, or explode into dust. Matthew Samson's dead eyes – his white face – his cold hands – his last words – ran through his mind over and over. He couldn't escape it. Clamping his hands on either side of his head, he pressed his palms into his skull, the wail easing into hissing breaths. His chest still felt like it was being pressed inwards, and Harry sipped at the air desperately.

There were hurried footsteps on the stairs. Draco returned, Snape perfectly composed behind him. Harry could only hear the rushing of his own breath in his ears, but it didn't drown out Draco's panicked voice entirely. There were no words, only sound. It definitely didn't drown out the rumbling bass of Snape's voice.

Thin, strong hands took his wrists and, trapped in Snape's fingers, his hands were pushed gently into his own stomach. Snape's other hand pressed into his chest, a large fan of warmth.

'Breathe. In.'

Harry struggled to comply, his chest tight and pressing. But the warmth of Snape's hand held promise.

'Breathe. Out.'

A shuddering breath escaped him. He still felt like he was going to dissolve. Or pass out. Or both. Samson's eyes flashed again. Tears fell.

'Breathe, Mr. Potter. In.'

His breath wavered, and the hand gripping his wrists tightened briefly in reassurance. The hand on his chest was so warm. Harry breathed in.

'Out.'

He sniffed his dripping nose, and blew out through his mouth hurriedly.

'Again. In. Your presence is no longer required, Draco.'

Harry felt his ribcage relax a fraction. He took a breath.

'Out. Yes, _you_. Go.'

After he successfully breathed out, the hand left his chest and a small phial was placed against his lips.

'Drink.'

He did.

* * *

Potter was out as soon as he swallowed the Calming Draught, and Severus caught the boy as he pitched over. He hadn't seen a panic attack, not to this degree, in any student who wasn't facing an exam, and certainly not in first year. With no glamours, and his hands on the boy's body, Severus was now considerably more worried about the boy than he was suspicious. Although perhaps inappropriate, he chose to carry Potter from the Owlery instead of levitating him. He was just so small.

The boy was underweight. He could feel his ribs through his robes. His wrists were tiny. His face was pallid, and the dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises. He knew an official inquiry would be launched, should he take Potter to the hospital wing. Potter was too sickly, and too emotionally distraught for the matter to be swept aside, and Poppy already knew about Potter's reliance on Dreamless Sleep. If there was an official inquiry, Severus knew that whoever Potter was, or whatever Potter was dealing with, would be revealed by someone else.

Severus felt a twisting inside of him at the thought. He felt ownership of what he dubbed the "Potter Problem;" the boy _was_ a Slytherin, after all, and in his care. He was the only one who seemed to notice the boy's strange behaviour, and unaccounted for knowledge. If Potter was someone masquerading to steal the Philosopher's Stone, he selfishly wanted to be the one to unmask him. If Potter himself was simply being used for that by someone else – or another nefarious purpose, perhaps – Severus wanted to be the one to save him. He owed Lily that. He had promised.

The second inappropriate decision of the night made, Severus turned and headed for his personal quarters instead of the hospital wing.

* * *

Harry felt exhausted when he woke. His body ached, and his head was pounding. As he sat up from his bed, he remembered having an episode, but he certainly didn't remember getting wherever he was now.

He was on a cot, emerging from beneath a number of blankets. The cot was in a sitting room. A well-worn sofa was to the left of the cot, and a merrily lit fireplace was to the right. A coffee table had obviously been pushed out of the way for the cot, piled with parchment and several potions texts.

'Snape,' he breathed, just as the man stepped into the room from a door past Harry's feet.

He froze, and raised an eyebrow at Harry.

'Sir,' Harry acknowledged. He took a moment to assess where his wand was, and felt its presence nearby. He found it balanced on top of the books on the coffee table, next to his glasses. He was struck, then, by just how much worse his eyesight was at age twenty-eight. The thought almost made him smile.

'How are you feeling?'

Harry turned back to Snape and shrugged.

'Better,' he admitted.

'Mr. Potter, can you explain what just transpired in the Owlery?'

Snape came fully into the room now, and stood at the foot of the cot. Harry took a deep breath and let it out.

'I had an episode,' he said slowly.

'Obviously,' Snape said in such a voice that a shiver went down Harry's back. 'I want to know why.'

Harry wracked his brain for a quick, easy explanation that did not involve time travel or dead Aurors.

'I thought about Hedwig dying.'

'Your owl?'

Harry nodded. It wasn't exactly a lie, just an omission of other pieces of the truth.

'Do thoughts of your owl dying frequently cause... episodes?'

Harry looked up at Snape, but even by tone of voice and expression, it was impossible to tell if the man was being serious or mocking him.

'Dying in general,' Harry specified, his eyes narrowing as he sought to decrypt Snape's body language.

Snape conjured a chair – plain, wooden, stiff – and sat in it, his eyes also narrowing at Harry.

'Does your own death worry you?'

Harry almost laughed.

'Not in the least.'

'Others dying, then.'

Harry nodded as he stroked his left forearm. Snape saw the motion and seized his left hand, pulling him forward.

'Hey!' Harry exclaimed, but Snape did not let go. He pushed Harry's sleeve up, inspecting the arm, turning it over in his hands and running his fingers along Harry's skin, causing gooseflesh to raise all over his body. Snape didn't find what he was looking for, though, and Harry wrenched his arm back. He felt tingly, and blood was rushing to his crotch.

'You want me to try that with you?' Harry demanded angrily, and Snape's expression darkened.

'It is my duty as your head of house-'

'To grab me and search under my clothes? In your – where are we, your _personal quarters?_ ' Harry cried, looking around wildly.

Snape's face blanched suddenly, and Harry knew he had gained the upper hand. The situation was extremely inappropriate for a student and teacher. Snape schooled his expression quickly.

'It is my duty as your head of house to ensure your safety, Mr. Potter,' Snape assured, smoothly. 'I have observed that you have a fixation with your left forearm, and feared you may be hurting yourself.'

'Nah, I was just thinking of getting a _tattoo_ ,' Harry sniped, and thoroughly enjoyed the furious flaring of Snape's nostrils.

'If you are testing me-'

Harry threw back the covers, and summoned both his wand and his glasses to his outstretched hand without uttering a word. Pushing his glasses onto his nose, Harry walked past Snape, to what he assumed was the door into the rest of the castle.

'My arm is fine,' Harry said shortly, pushing open the door and confirming it as the exit. 'Thank you for your help. I'll see you in class.'

Snape still hadn't risen from the chair.

* * *

The show of force might have been a bit much, Harry conceded with a grimace as the hot water of the shower pelted down on him. It was after curfew now, but considering that the only one who might be patrolling the dungeons at this hour would be Snape himself, he was assured in his safety. He felt bad for using Snape's touch as leverage, considering how good it had felt. It was likely that the man would never touch him again, now.

His stomach jerked at the thought of touching himself. He gave a strangled yell as he whirled and pitched to his knees against the wet, tiled floor. He gagged loudly over and over again. Nothing came up, and his stomach ached in protest to the dry-heaving. He coughed and spat, panting on his hands and knees. Finally, he stood, and turned the shower on full blast cold.

Harry got to his bed another half hour later, his skin scrubbed raw, shivering wildly with cold. He bundled himself into bed, closed the curtains, and drew his wand. He pushed the left sleeve of his pajamas up, and touched the pale, unmarred skin, remembering what his twenty-eight-year-old arm looked like.

He _did_ have a tattoo, and a number of scars that Snape would have undoubtedly felt had they only been glamoured. His fingers brushed over where his scars were supposed to be. He looked at his wand, and then back at his arm. Snape was right, he did have a fixation on his arm. Pushing his sleeve back down, he tucked his wand under his pillow. Now was not the time. He could hold on.

* * *

Severus hadn't been so exhausted in years. Not since the days he spent as a spy for Dumbledore. So after his last class of the day, when he had hoped to get a quick nap in before having to deal with Potter yet again, of _course_ the headmaster wanted to have tea.

He was in his office, waiting with a sherbet lemon – which Severus immediately declined – and a tea tray.

'How is Harry holding up, Severus? Biscuit?'

He struggled to not roll his eyes. _Potter_. Was it _always_ about Potter?

Severus strengthened his mental walls and tried to look suitably irritated.

'He is struggling with nightmares, Albus. He fears people around him will die.'

Albus looked worried.

'Do you know where he gets these ideas from?'

Severus raised a brow as he took a large swallow of well-sweetened, generously-milked tea. 'The dreams,' he said, as if the question were ridiculous. Since it was. Albus nodded.

'You don't think there is more to it than that?' he asked carefully, eyeing Severus over his glasses. Severus crunched on a biscuit and chewed it drily for several moments, using the time to mull over his answer. The old man obviously wanted a plan; how they would deal with the problem of Potter's nightmares before it got to the next level. He did not for an instant consider telling Albus that Harry had already escalated to dependence on sleeping potions, and panic attacks.

'He is quite adept at advanced levels of magic. I suspect he may be reading above his level. What he reads may be disturbing him,' Severus offered. 'He is a very apt pupil,' he added. Albus's eyes twinkled merrily.

'He must take after Lily, then. She was rather studious at his age, too.'

Severus clenched his jaw. He knew exactly what Lily was like; they had been best friends and study partners through first year.

'Indeed. He certainly can't take after his dunderhead-'

'Severus.'

Thinning his mouth into a line, Severus swallowed the last of his tea and stood.

'If there is nothing else, Headmaster?'

'Yes, of course,' Albus said, waving him away. 'Please attend to your extracurriculars!'

Severus did not hold back on rolling his eyes this time. Albus knew as well as he did that he had no extracurriculars.

'You will talk to him? Perhaps suggest some Muggle literature?' Albus offered helpfully. 'There are some works by H.G. Wells in the library he might enjoy.'

Severus curled his lip, but nodded.

'I will make the suggestion.'

* * *

Despite Harry's thinly veiled threats, and the awkward tension between them during the double Potions class Friday morning, Snape dropped by the Slytherin table as dinner wound down to confirm that Harry would be by at seven o'clock. As he walked away, Harry heard a chorus of laughter from the Gryffindor table. He turned, and saw Seamus pantomiming a passionate kiss with an invisible partner, to the hooting delight of Dean and Ron. Even Neville tittered nervously, but Hermione appeared to be glaring at them from her seat further down the table. Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to his plate, chancing a glance down the Slytherin table. Draco was giving him a significant look from his seat with Crabbe and Goyle. Sighing to himself, Harry pushed away from the table and left, determined to wander the halls until it was time to meet Snape.

In the lesson, Snape was politely formal, and left the door to the classroom open. After a short explanation of what Occlumency was and how it worked, they spent an hour going over the concept of clearing one's mind, and basic meditation. Harry was able to practice clearing his mind with Snape present, and left the classroom feeling better about Occlumency than he ever had before. Overall, it was a much gentler entry into learning than he had the first time around.

But the awkward tension from Potions class was still there and before he left, Harry apologized.

'I'm sorry, sir, for what I said on Wednesday,' he said, hand on the door frame as he made to exit. Snape looked up from tidying his desk, visibly startled. 'You helped me when I needed you, and you were just looking out for me. I all but spat in your face.'

Snape relaxed, and straightened.

'You were emotionally unstable. An outburst such as the one you had is not... unexpected.'

Harry took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh of relief.

'Do you forgive me?' he asked. An odd look crossed Snape's face, but it was gone as soon as it registered.

'You are forgiven, Mr. Potter.'

'Thank you.' He paused, unsure of the wisdom of his next request. 'Because I was hoping you might be game for a rematch tomorrow.'

Snape appeared to collapse slightly under the regret of ever having extended the offer to Harry in the first place. He gave an irritated sigh and waved his hand in acquiescence.

'Seven o'clock, then!'

He ducked out of the classroom, before the potions master could object.


	6. The Encounter

**A/N:** Another longer chapter, just FYI. Beta-read and kept on track by the fantastic TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3)! The MA-rated version of this chapter is available on AO3 under the same author name and title.

* * *

Severus sat at his desk after Potter had gone, a chess game scheduled for the next evening, and began questioning his own sanity. The boy had been the perfect student during their uncomfortable Occlumency lesson, and had unexpectedly apologized for threatening him. They had created a new truce.

And so it went. They played chess and got talking about potions, of all things. Potter was fidgeting, and kept touching his arm – a nervous tic, Severus had decided after inspecting the limb himself.

He stopped contemplating the board, and sighed.

'What is it, Potter? Your mind is not on the game.'

'I don't even know where to begin,' Potter admitted, running his hand through his hair.

'That is not a surprise, given your lack of functioning-'

'Would you _stop_ ,' Potter said in such a tone that Severus did stop. He had been ribbing Potter a bit, which for some reason seemed to irritate the boy today. He focused intently on Potter. 'I need help... on a potion. I'm trying to...' his voice dried up and he sighed.

'Nevermind,' Harry blurted, almost angrily. 'I totally forgot what I was saying. I forfeit.' He flicked over his king, having been scrambling to get out of check for three turns now. He made to grab his things, and was halfway to the door before Severus could question him.

'Stop.'

The door closed and locked, and Potter looked up from his bag. Severus stared at him. He acted as though he were not here of his own volition, as if he were trying to get out of a detention early.

'You will tell me,' Severus instructed. 'You will not have wasted my time with your insecurities.'

Potter's eyes glanced to the locked door. Severus watched him carefully.

'What potion are you working on?'

Potter opened his mouth and took a deep breath.

'Ah... Polyjuice,' he admitted at last. He licked his lips. 'I thought, maybe-'

'Polyjuice is an O.W.L. potion, Potter,' Severus said slowly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. 'I would recommend setting your sights a touch lower, for an extracurricular project.' He narrowed his eyes. 'I should not expect to find it brewing in a second floor toilet, should I?'

Potter swallowed hard, but stepped back towards him, looking eager now.

'I understand the premise of Polyjuice, but I was thinking, if you wanted to not just take on someone's appearance, but their actual body-'

Severus did not even try to school his incredulous disgust, and Potter froze in front of him, as if he'd uttered a filthy epithet. The concept had such Dark implications, Severus could not help the physical recoil from it. His skin crawled at the very thought.

' _What?_ '

Potter swallowed hard again and glanced at the door.

'I knew it was a stupid idea,' he said quickly. 'I'll just go.'

He ran at the door as Severus got up, unlocking the door as he grabbed the handle, escaping into the corridor beyond. Severus stood stock still in the classroom, looking at the door Potter had unlocked with no uttered spell, and no wand drawn. Right after asking about developing a potion to... _swap bodies_. He let Potter go; he was in no mood to chase the... whatever he was... down.

* * *

He felt frustrated that everyone wanted to talk to him about Harry Potter and yet here he was, himself, unable to pull himself away from the fascinating student. Threatening to expose his inappropriate actions that night was very Slytherin, and Severus was almost proud that the boy had gone for it. But after the highly unsatisfying chess game and Potter's perplexing exit, Severus felt the need to blow off a little steam.

With a few well-placed charms and a temporary hair potion, Severus exited the castle that night after curfew, feeling freer than he had in weeks. The teachers always got a certain amount of time off per year, and Severus rarely took his. Albus had been surprised, but understanding. His disguise would keep him safe from all sorts who would try to chat him up just for his reputation, and he could enjoy a no-strings-attached night on the town.

But, as usual, he ended up at The Heartless Harpy. It was a strictly adults-only establishment, and frequently had entertainment of the adult variety. It was his usual haunt and therefore required the disguise. Going out usually meant being recognized, especially so close to the school in Hogsmeade. He found himself a veritable magnet for current and former students, colleagues, and those he would bathe in bubotuber pus to avoid. It wouldn't win him any love from Albus if Severus Snape was caught entering or exiting The Harpy.

The entertainment was already finished for the evening by the time he arrived, and Severus wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or not. It meant a quieter atmosphere, but it also meant less patrons. He wasn't entirely sure yet whether he wanted to nurse a drink all night alone with his thoughts, or whether he wished for company.

Resigned to sitting alone with two fingers of Fire Whiskey, he took his first sip and noticed another man sitting further down the bar. He was nursing the same drink as Severus, and his brilliant blue eyes were slightly glazed with intoxication.

 _Well, hello_.

The man had an attractive face and looked vaguely familiar, but Severus could not place him. His shaggy, sandy hair fell roguishly across his left eye. He'd definitely never seen him in The Harpy before. Knocking back the rest of his drink, he decided he did want company after all.

But he was gone. Smothering his disappointment, Severus adjusted his seat back onto the bar stool, and felt a hand brush his elbow. He turned to the other side, and the blue-eyed man was there, with two drinks in hand.

'You're not leaving, are you?' he asked softly as he slid a tumbler onto the bar surface in front of Severus. His voice held the promise of good humour and better sex.

'No,' he replied awkwardly, and the man smiled.

'Well good. I was going to ask you if you wanted to move to a booth?' He gestured with his own drink to an open booth on the darker side of the bar.

Severus nodded, and took his drink with him, following the man to the booth he had pointed out. He already felt out of sorts, the buzz from the liquor starting to hit him. He was usually the pursuer in these scenarios. Perhaps he had made his disguise too attractive.

'I'm Harper,' the man said, flopping into one side of the booth. His smile made the golden stubble on his cheeks crinkle into dark patches on either side of his mouth. Severus scooted as smoothly as he could into the other side. He eyed the drink Harper had brought him.

'I didn't poison it,' Harper assured him with a light chuckle. He dropped something small onto the table, and it made a hard clacking sound on the table top. It was a bezoar. 'But here, if you're worried.' He folded his hands in front of him on the table. Pale, spidery lines of a scar on the back of his right hand glinted in the dim light.

'There are numerous potions capable of incapacitating a victim,' Severus said, taking a sip of his drink, trying to be unobtrusive about eyeing Harper's hand, 'that would render your bezoar useless.'

'True!' Harper admitted with a smirk, sliding his hands off the table. 'So do you have a name?'

'Sal,' Severus answered without missing a beat. He had used this disguise before with the same name.

'So what do you do, Sal?'

Their conversation remained light and casual for almost an hour, and it was obvious to Severus that this man – Harper – was hiding something. His answers were a little too coded, a bit too vague. Severus wouldn't be able to piece enough of it together to do a proper background search on him.

Despite this, Severus found the man attractive, if irritatingly familiar. He didn't usually accept drinks from strangers (he refused to admit he'd never had the opportunity before) but he was feeling bold tonight. But a drink was not the same as getting into bed with a stranger.

'Alright, alright,' Harper relented after Severus questioned him into a corner. 'I work in law enforcement.'

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'You're an Auror?'

'Worked in a different place,' the man said cagily, swirling the last of his drink around in his glass. 'But yes, same concept.'

'Worked as in... no longer?'

The discomfort on Harper's face grew.

'I'm on medical leave.'

Severus let it be, knowing that there were many reasons Aurors went on medical leave, and none of them were pleasant topics of conversation. Having won this piece of information from Harper, Severus divulged a little more about himself, claiming to work as a tutor for N.E.W.T. students. Harper was very sympathetic.

'I'm around Hogwarts students far too much,' he said in a low voice, as if he expected to get ejected from Hogsmeade for speaking ill of Hogwarts. 'Eleven-year-olds...' he rolled his eyes emphatically, his mouth slack. Severus sniggered. 'Eleven-year-olds are so mundane! So vexing! I can't stand being around them all the time.'

Severus frowned. 'The students have only a monthly visit to Hogsmeade, and it is a day trip.'

Harper started, looking awkward for a moment. Then he laughed.

'Is it really only that often?' he muttered.

Severus didn't mention that Hogsmeade weekends were only for third years and up.

'I think you've had enough to drink,' he chided, pushing away the tumbler Harper was holding.

Harper made a noise of protest. 'But it's only my third!'

Severus smirked.

'You're a light-weight.'

Harper nodded and laughed. His eyes were glassy, and his face was flushed. They got up from the booth, and Harper smiled sheepishly at Severus.

'I should probably get going.'

They walked out onto the street together, and stood awkwardly off to the side from the door. There was no one around, and Harper licked his lips. He stepped toward Severus.

Severus reached into his robes and brought out two small phials.

'I'd prefer to be sober for this,' he said in a low voice. He offered a phial to Harper, who looked startled. He took one nonetheless. Together, they drank the small doses of potion. Harper coughed and made a horrible sound of disgust, looking at Severus with a terrified face of betrayal.

'What the fuck, Sal,' he hissed. Severus made a face for a brief moment, and cleared his throat.

'If it tasted _good_ , everyone would use it.'

Harper coughed again. His eyes were watering and his face was ruddy.

Severus waited, and after a few more minutes of grousing about the taste of the sobering potion, Harper finally looked all right.

'As I said before,' Severus said in a slightly raised voice, 'I'd prefer to be sober for this.'

He closed the distance between Harper and himself, hands gripping the front of the man's robes and pushing him around the corner into the darkness of the alley. Their lips met in a desperate crash, bodies pressing together. He tasted Harper's lips: Firewhiskey and the slight tang of sobering potion. There was nothing else.

The cool night suddenly felt too hot, and they crossed a line Severus rarely did so quickly. But he felt powerless to resist the man.

He released the sandy hair from his fingers a few moments later with a breathy sigh. There was a laugh by his waist, and Severus tucked himself away after a hasty cleaning charm. Things were _very_ tingly, and _very_ sensitive. Harper was crushing into him for a kiss.

'Oh, Sal,' he breathed, a new taste on his lips.

Severus grabbed him and turned them around, Harper now against the wall.

'I enjoyed this,' Harper blurted, his blue eyes sparkling in the little light that reached them.

'I would be willing to see you again,' Severus allowed. Harper laughed.

'You're too kind,' he said with a brief kiss. 'Next week?'

'Same time and place.'

Casting a Protean Charm on the sobering potion phials took a few minutes, and the alley was quiet with only their breath. Confirming that Harper knew how to use the newly minted communication devices, Severus tucked a phial into Harper's pocket for him, breathing in the smell of their sex one last time.

Severus released his companion, and could see Harper's wide grin even in the dark. He laughed again, and walked out of the alley, giving Severus a stupid little wave before disappearing down the street. Straightening his robes and double-checking himself before coming round the corner back onto the street, Severus decided to follow after Harper to see what he could learn about the man.

But he was gone.

* * *

The techniques from his first Occlumency lesson served Harry well, and he slept deeply that weekend. He still felt like garbage, though, and the bruise-like circles under his eyes did not fade. The only thing that kept him from drifting off immediately at night was Snape's face when he had described the Mutamorph Potion. It was similar to Slughorn's when Tom Riddle asked him about Horcruxes. It was a look of disgusted recognition.

He had no idea the background of the inventor of the Mutamorph Potion. The Ministry had, of course, recognized the Dark implications of the potion when it had been presented at a patent hearing. It was a highly restricted substance for that reason. Class III clearance was required for brewing, purchasing, or even transporting its combination of ingredients together. Witches and wizards were put on watch lists and frequently subjected to searches when it was discovered they had bought the ingredients required over the span of as long as a year. Perhaps he was speaking to the wrong professor.

It took a week of finally paying attention in Quirrell's class. He watched how the bumbling professor acted, the lessons he taught, and which topics he avoided. It was the first time he had noticed how much Quirrell watched him. The class had been so boring for the most part in his first year, that he had hardly paid attention beyond what was required to pass the class. Even if he had noticed Quirrell's eyes, he had likely brushed it off as the unreasonable worship of a fan; his behaviour in The Leaky Cauldron when Hagrid has introduced them had established that.

The last lesson of the week, after lunch on Friday, they had just finished up discussing in class a section of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_. It had been a painstaking class of learning the theory behind casting green and red sparks. Even as an eleven-year-old, Harry had been absolutely bored out of his mind.

The class was dismissed, and Harry approached Quirrell's desk, aware that Draco was giving him a weird look as he left the room.

'Ah, Mr. P-Potter!' Quirrell said pleasantly as the last of the Slytherins trickled out. 'D-did you have t-t-trouble with the lesson?'

'No, sir,' Harry answered, gripping his text books tightly. His palms were sweaty. He breathed in the overpowering scent of garlic, and... something else. He swallowed hard. 'I was hoping to do a bit of extra reading on a subject that you mentioned in Tuesday's class, the disguises?'

Quirrell's eyes were fixed on Harry's face with an intense sort of adoration, and sweat was beading on his upper lip. He dabbed at it with a handkerchief and smiled nervously.

'Of c-course. Have you read Schiffer's _L-L-Literal Looks?_ ' Quirrell asked lightly, moving around the other side of his desk, as if trying to maintain a certain amount of distance between them.

'Yes, sir,' Harry said, moving a step closer, just to see what would happen. Quirrell took a step back, his smile fading.

'Ah, th-that is unfort-t-tunate.'

'I was hoping for something that goes, you know, into a little more detail,' Harry said, taking another step. Quirrell shuffled backwards.

'O-Of course. Anyth-thing you want,' he said weakly as his next class started arriving. He pulled out a Restricted Section pass, and quickly scrawled a signature on it with the word _unrestricted_.

'Perfect,' Harry said with a smile. As Quirrell handed him the slip, Harry grabbed it firmly, trapping one of Quirrell's fingers with the paper.

Quirrell yelped and yanked his hand back as Harry grit his teeth against the pain that flared in his scar. He forced a smile and nodded his head. Quirrell was pale and sweating.

'Thank you, sir.'

* * *

Severus sat at the bar feeling a bit nervous. He had found nothing about any man named Harper involved in anything related to Magical Law Enforcement in wizarding Britain. He supposed perhaps the man had told the truth, and had been involved in a different country. Or perhaps the man had used a pseudonym, much as he was doing. He couldn't really fault him for that.

He supposed he should be grateful. With Harper on his mind, Harry Potter had fallen to the wayside, even after his display of advanced magic and strange questions about potions. The boy had been a quiet, obedient student all week. Even Quirrell had appeared especially quiet at dinner after his absence from dinner Friday. With nothing to distract him, his focus had been entirely on his prospective date with Harper.

It had been ages since a potential partner had excited him so, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was the danger and mystery of it all. In the end, he thought, if Harper remained tight-lipped, he could always add a drop or two of Veritaserum to the man's drink when he wasn't looking.

But as the evening wore on, and Severus's drink disappeared, only to be replaced by one he bought himself, his mood soured. He imagined all sorts of terrible scenarios where Harper was actually a Daily Prophet reporter, or perhaps even Sam McGrath, the N.E.W.T. student last year he'd been forced to fail. A short message had shown up on his phial at about quarter after nine: _Something came up._ He had confirmed the time via their charmed potion phials, and yet here he was, being stood up, with only a vague excuse offered over two hours late. He got so angry and felt so utterly stupid, he slammed his tumbler on the bar and left.

He trudged up to the castle in an absolutely foul mood, crushing the phial to dust under his heel, and it was not helped by Minerva accosting him in the entry way.

'Ah, Severus, there you are. Albus has Mr. Potter in his office right now.'

Irritated now for a completely different reason, especially given the hour, Severus nodded his thanks and made his way to the Headmaster's office.

Indeed, Potter was in Albus's office. But so were Quirrell, Irma Pince, and a very large stack of books clearly from the Restricted Section. Potter was sitting in a chair while Irma stood irritably next to Albus, and Quirrell looked uncomfortable on the other side of the office, as far from Potter as he could get.

'What is this about?' Severus asked. Potter looked as though he wanted nothing more than to shrink away and disappear.

'Severus, thank you for joining us,' Albus said cordially. 'Irma has informed me that Harry here attempted to take out this stack of books from the library earlier this evening.'

The stack included _Moste Potente Potions_ , _Book of Potions_ , as well as a stack of issues of _The Practical Potioneer_. There was a skinny book in the middle written by _S. Croaker_ , and a thicker book called _A Brief History of Time Travel_. Severus felt a shiver down his spine as he met Albus's eyes.

'Because Quirinus gave the boy an unrestricted pass! You're lucky this is _all_ he tried to take out!' Irma snapped, pointing a thin finger at Quirrell.

'He want-ted to know!' Quirrell all but shouted in retaliation.

'I understand that Mr. Potter is of Slytherin House, but _how_ is this _my_ problem?' Severus ground out. Albus held up a hand, and Irma's inflammatory response died on her lips.

'I believe you should take Harry back to his dorm and have a discussion with him about appropriate reading subjects.' Albus gave him a hard look, and Severus looked away, flushing with guilt. He had given the reading explanation as an excuse. He hadn't expected to actually need to instruct the boy on what was proper to read and what wasn't.

'Come with me, Mr. Potter,' Severus instructed. The boy got out of his chair and followed him down the stairs as voices started arguing again behind the door.

'I _had_ a pass,' Potter insisted as they passed through the gargoyle and into the school corridors.

'And what did you do to poor Professor Quirrell in order to secure it?' Severus asked over his shoulder. Potter looked irate.

'Nothing!' he exploded. 'I just told him I wanted to do some reading.'

Severus stopped in his tracks, turning to meet the boy, who almost walked right into him.

'Most of those books were concerning potions. Do not think for one minute that it escaped my notice.'

They began to walk again, and after a moment of silence, Potter's small voice reached him.

'Why do you care?'

He stopped and whirled again. Potter looked wary.

'You did not ask me for a pass.'

'I didn't know what I was looking for, yet,' Potter said, and then shrugged. 'I probably wouldn't have gotten away with it, even with a pass from you.'

'Unlikely,' Severus admitted. They began walking again. 'If you are determined to study the subject, perhaps I can arrange for you to read in my classroom.'

'Really?' Potter asked incredulously.

Severus nodded as they arrived at the Slytherin dorm.

'Thank you, sir,' Potter beamed at him. Then he opened the portrait and climbed inside.

* * *

Harry tossed and turned, and found it impossible to relax enough to sleep. He hadn't expected Madam Pince to drag him into Dumbledore's office, and certainly not for Quirrell to get called. His scar prickled the entire time they were in Dumbledore's office together, and when Snape had taken him back to his dorm, it had been a blessed relief.

When he finally did get to sleep, he dreamed that Quirrell was hunting him through McGonagall's giant chess set, scattered all over the board. Eventually, Quirrell caught him, threw him down, and pinned him to the floor with his body while Voldemort laughed. His scar hurt more than ever before, and he could feel blood running down his forehead into his eyes. He tried to push Quirrell off, but it was impossible. Quirrell kept touching him with his hands, and instead of it burning Quirrell, it burned Harry. His skin bubbled and peeled. He screamed.

Until someone shook him awake, hands rough, voice fraught with fear. Tangled in his bed clothes, Harry panicked. His foe scrambled away as Harry pulled his wand and cast.

He wasn't even sure what he cast, but it was powerful enough to throw Draco Malfoy across the room and destroy his own bed, the canopy collapsing on top of him. The door to their room flew open a moment later, and Marcus Flint rushed in, helping Draco up and checking him over.

'What the hell, Potter,' Draco yelled, once he realized he was all right. Flint started coming toward him, but seemed to think better of it. Harry remained in his bed, still shell-shocked and sweaty from his nightmares; his body aching underneath the weight of the canopy.

'What happened?' Flint asked. Harry couldn't see them.

'He was having a nightmare,' Draco said when it was obvious Harry would not speak. 'Screaming bloody murder. So I woke him.'

'And then what happened?'

'This!' Draco cried, gesturing to the damaged room.

The door opened again and someone else entered, the door shutting out the concerned babbling of the other Slytherin students.

'What is going on here?' Snape's terse voice asked as he stepped into the room. Harry felt tears overflow out of his eyes, trailing down his temples into his hair. He felt sick and shaky as the adrenalin surge faded.

'It's Potter, sir. He had a nightmare and reacted poorly when woken,' Flint explained, as though he couldn't actually believe this was all happening. 'He's still in there.'

There were some quietly exchanged words with Draco and Flint, and the were apparently told to leave, since they left and the door shut.

'You are safe.'

Harry swallowed hard. His head still throbbed, and he was scared that his scar had actually bled.

'Drop the ward, Mr. Potter.'

It took Harry a moment to realize what he meant. So it would seem he had cast an offensive ward.

'Potter.'

It was no longer a request. It took a moment, but Harry was able to figure out what he had done, and reverse it. As Snape finally levitated the collapsed canopy off of him, he struggled out of the bed clothes. In a shot, Snape grabbed him and hauled him off the wreckage of his bed.

'What in Merlin's name is going on,' Snape hissed into his face. His breath smelled terrible, like Fire Whiskey. 'You could have killed someone!'

'Don't you think I know that!?' Harry cried, wrenching himself away from Snape. He tripped over a piece of his canopy and fell hard. His breath left him, and he fought to hold back his tears. He was still here. He was still trapped in this time. And he was falling apart.

'We will get this sorted,' Snape told him – an attempt at gentleness – as he pulled Harry back up to standing. He let go of him as soon as he was stable, and surveyed the room again. Harry wiped at his forehead and looked at his fingertips. Just sweat.

Snape glanced at him and then sighed, a strange sound from the normally shuttered man.

'We will deal with this in the morning.'

With that, he left the room, looking completely overwhelmed. Harry, surrounded by the ruins he created, wrapped his thin arms around himself. The dorm was quiet. Too quiet. Flint had likely gone back to bed, and Draco was probably reassigned, at least for the rest of night. But Harry had been left, once again, to pick up his own pieces.


	7. The Time Traveller's Strife

**A/N:** Thanks to my beta, TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for the awesome chapter title! And also thanks to her for being an awesome beta and helping me to keep writing even when writer's block hits! There is a slightly more MA-rated version of this chapter over on AO3 under the same pen name and title.

* * *

Snape had offered him the ability to read the books he had chosen from the library, and Harry, excited to make some sort of progress, showed up Saturday evening despite still feeling run down. His stomach was upset, so he had skipped supper, but he chalked it up to nerves. It seemed almost too good to be true that Snape was going to help him, or at the very least, seemed willing to let him handle things himself, after everything that had happened.

The chess board was out, but so was the large stack of books and periodicals that he had sought from the library. Snape was sitting at his desk, and conjured a tea tray as soon as Harry arrived. He nodded to the chair opposite, and Harry sat. With a wave of his wand, Snape closed the door and locked it.

'Tea?'

'Please,' Harry said, accepting the cup. He was to drink it the way Snape liked it, apparently. Well-sweetened and generously-milked. It was growing on him. He helped himself to a biscuit from the plate, and sat back. He nibbled a bit at the biscuit, but found it turned his stomach so he set it aside delicately.

'In an attempt to understand you, I have read the materials you gathered,' Severus began, placing a hand on top of the stack. 'It is an admirable amount of reading.'

Harry snorted.

'It only took you a week? Even with classes?'

'I have read most of it already, and required only a cursory glance to refresh my memory.'

Harry took another gulp of tea.

'Your move,' was all Snape said, gesturing to the chess board.

And so they played chess. Snape was generous with the advice, and Harry lasted much longer than usual. It wasn't until he told Snape to bog off with his advice that he fell into check.

But after chess, Snape seemed willing to talk about the books.

'What information are you looking for?'

'Well, I wanted to look some things up about Polyjuice, of course,' Harry said slowly, building his story. 'And I've always been interested in the concept of time travel, so when I saw the books...' he glanced at the stack and shrugged, attempting to seem casual.

Snape leaned forward over the desk, his greasy hair brushing the tops of the chess pieces, which cried out quietly in alarm.

'And where did you first hear about Polyjuice?'

Harry shrugged again.

'I read about it in _A History of Magic_ ,' he said, desperately hoping there was some reference to it in there. It seemed there was, because Snape looked satisfied. 'I was always fascinated by the fact that there is no way to tell if someone has taken Polyjuice, except to let the potion wear off.'

'You wish to remedy this by creating a body-switching potion?'

'If my theory is correct,' Harry said, suddenly realizing how ridiculous he sounded, 'well, then, er- it would be ah... a permanent solution to Polyjuice.'

Snape's lip curled.

'And why would you, a first year, be interested in creating a permanent form of Polyjuice?'

Harry kept his expression light as he sipped his tea.

'For fun,' he said with a smile. Snape's expression was thunderous, but he said nothing.

'And your interest in time travel?'

'Entirely entertainment,' Harry said with another smile. 'There are such restrictions on it, it's hard to know how we even know anything about it.'

'From the experience of Eloise Mintumble,' Snape said, digging _A Brief History of Time Travel_ out of the stack of books next to him. He let it fall open in his hands, and flipped casually through a few pages. 'She experimented with time before it was regulated.'

Harry's eyes went wide.

'It sounds thrilling to experiment with time,' he said. Snape glared.

'She caused the disappearance of twenty-five people. She wrecked _havoc_ on time!' Snape said, snapping the book shut. 'It is not _thrilling_.'

'You're saying that time operates in a linear fashion, then,' Harry inferred. Snape breathed heavily through his nose, as if gathering his patience.

'What?'

'How far did she go back?'

'Almost five hundred years, I believe,' Snape said slowly, as if uncertain where Harry's train of thought was headed.

'So she went back five hundred years, messed a few things up, and twenty-five people vanished?'

'Indeed.'

Harry adjusted his tea cup on its saucer. Snape, noticing, poured him another cup.

'But she had come back.'

'Yes. What is your point?'

'If she hadn't come back, would those people have disappeared?'

Snape paused, considering.

'Yes,' he said, decisively.

'There is only one stream of time, then?'

'As far as I understand, yes. Something incredible would have to occur to split time.'

Harry mulled it over as he took another biscuit with his tea. Was doing a body swap across time enough of an incredible event to split time?

'Another game?' Harry asked, picking up his defeated king. Snape nodded, and he reset the board.

'Is it possible to move forward in time?'

Snape looked up at him. He was, for the first time, ahead on his own skills, which seemed to be impressing the Potions master.

'It isn't even possible in theory, let alone practice,' Snape said lightly. Harry itched to have the time travel book to himself.

'What do you mean?'

'Time travel to the past is possible because the past has occurred already. It is fixed. The future changes with every decision and action every person makes.'

'But-'

'When one travels back in time with a Time Turner, for instance – you know how those work, I assume?' He looked unsurprised when Harry nodded. 'Croaker's Law states that the furthest someone can go back in time is five hours. Any further than that risks serious harm to the traveller or time itself,' Snape explained. He moved his last pawn and requested its promotion to a queen. Harry groaned to himself as he replaced Snape's pawn with his previously captured piece.

'What is frequently difficult to wrap one's mind around is that by the moment you go back in time, you have already completed your journey. Everything that you accomplished in the past has already come to pass.'

Harry froze. He knew this. It had happened in his third year. How had he forgotten? He bit his lip as Snape took out his last rook. Could he chance taking this conversation further? He made no move for any of his pieces, and sat silently for a moment as he wrestled with his thoughts.

'What if you don't use a Time Turner to go back in time?'

Snape frowned, his eyes rising from the chess board to meet Harry's.

'As far as I know, there are no other devices developed that have the ability to manipulate time,' he said. Harry looked away, disappointed.

'What if,' Harry said slowly, looking intently at the chess pieces he hadn't moved in more than five minutes now. 'What if there was an accident? Some sort of spell mix-up, or maybe a potions accident...'

Snape sat back, considering.

'I expect it would work similarly to a Time Turner.'

'But what if it _didn't,_ ' Harry insisted. They were finally getting somewhere. His hands were curled into fists that he put his weight on as he leaned over the desk urgently. A drop of sweat trickled down the middle of his back. 'What if, somehow, you went back in time as your younger self?'

Snape's eyes widened ever so slightly, but he schooled his expression easily.

'That, Mr. Potter, would be completely different.'

'Yes!' Harry agreed. He sat back, deflated with relief. 'Then there would still be only one version of yourself in time.'

'This is an advanced concept,' Snape said slowly. He steepled his fingers and leaned over the desk. 'That implies, essentially, a switching of-'

He paused, mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. Had Snape figured it out? Had he put the pieces together? He held his breath.

'S-sir?' He asked, his voice so soft it barely sounded at all.

'A switching of bodies,' Snape concluded after another tense moment. He leaned back into his chair again. Harry swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly extremely dry.

'Yes,' Harry said. He was loathe to let out any more breath than was necessary to speak. He sat rigidly, his posture frozen. Snape seemed to be mirroring his stiff posture.

'So it is possible?' Harry prompted, still holding as much of his breath as possible.

'I do not know.'

The conversation ended and for once, Harry felt every bit his body's age: awkward, bumbling, and bemused. He left in a hurried string of excuses of studying, and apologies. Snape had started to look at him in a way that greatly unnerved him. The man hadn't even seemed to notice that Harry had taken _A Brief History of Time Travel_ with him.

* * *

The next day, Harry felt tired and had an intense headache, and he couldn't seem to shake his nervousness. He stayed in his dorm room most of the day, despite cajoling from Draco to at least eat supper. The book he had taken from Snape's desk made good company, and he learned that Snape had been telling the truth. Time was considered linear. A change due to time travel would not create a new, separate thread of time, it simply changed the route of time itself. But that didn't make sense to Harry's experience: how would he even exist if – at age eleven – he was replaced in his body by his twenty-eight year old self?

The only explanation was that his time travelling was the type of incredible event required to create a new thread of time. Something that had never been documented before. Because of course it had to be him: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived to Defeat Voldemort and Create the First Alternate Reality.

While Monday's Potion class was uneventful lesson-wise, Snape called him up after class was over.

'Mr. Potter, I don't think I need to remind you that theft if a punishable offence,' Snape said tersely once the last student exited and the door was closed and locked. Harry felt his face grow hot, and dug the book out of his bag.

'I'm sorry, sir.'

Snape glared at him as he snatched the book back.

'I don't suppose you have any reasonable excuse for your actions.'

'I'm from the future,' he said impulsively. He immediately regretted it. Even in the wizarding world, it sounded ridiculous out loud. Snape did not react.

'Oh, do tell me what happens,' he said malevolently, bracing his hands on his desk and leaning over, his eyes glittering dangerously. 'But I'm beginning to think the future involves you having a detention.'

It turned out to be not one detention, but five. Even Draco was horrified. He went every night after supper to scrub cauldrons and cut up nasty potion ingredients. There was no talking, no reading, and no showing off by brewing complicated potions. It was only a waste of his time, and tired him excessively. His arms always felt shaky at the end of the night.

By Friday, he was exhausted again. Even with the basic Occlumency techniques, his sleep was poor. He didn't want to admit that his relationship with Snape might be contributing to the nightmares. The professor was the closest he had to a friend, really, and there was a distance between them now that Harry felt unable to broach. He had no idea if Snape even believed him, or if he was just biding his time until he had Harry committed to St. Mungo's.

Free at last after a week of scrubbing cauldrons until his knuckles bled, Harry hurried to his dorm, desperate to get to the bookstore in Hogsmeade before it closed. He grabbed the last of his Ageing Potion and Shrinking Solution, his money, and his disguise kit. Taking a page from Remus Lupin's book, he used the passageway to Honeydukes and started his evening with a bit of fine chocolate.

* * *

The boy still hadn't cracked. His fingers and knuckles had started to bleed by Tuesday, yet he hadn't even visited the Hospital Wing for a salve. He also hadn't said a word the entire five detentions. He wasn't answering questions in class, and there was his cheeky excuse for stealing the library book.

 _I'm from the future_.

It made too much sense, and yet no sense at all. He had postulated the idea of switching bodies with his younger self – across time – which was Dark magic to begin with, without bringing time into it. It had to be a distraction from what was actually going on. While it connected all the dots, it had never been done before. It never would be, either, because it was ridiculous.

Severus was feeling frustrated, to say the least, and he wasn't sure whether he felt better or worse about it when he saw Harper walk into The Heartless Harpy at eleven o'clock that night. The man carried a selection of shopping bags. Severus was in his usual disguise as Sal, and tried to slink away unnoticed, but Harper spotted him. His face contorted with regret, and offered a small wave. Severus sighed and nodded him over.

'God, Sal, didn't you get my message the next day?'

The man ordered two Ogden's Old.

'I did.'

Frowning at the drinks that were placed in front of him, Harper tossed his back in one, grunting as the liquid burned down his throat.

'Why didn't you write back?'

'After you stood me up?' Severus asked, with a raised brow. Harper scowled.

'I told you I got hung up.'

'You are too much of a mystery,' Severus said resolutely, lifting his drink and swallowing it without making any undignified noises. 'I have enough of that in my life without seeking it out.'

'So what, you want my life story before you'll date me proper?'

Severus' stomach twinged pleasantly. Harper wanted to date him?

'You want to get out of here?' Harper urged quietly, his eyes flicking towards the door. 'Somewhere private to talk?'

'Yes.'

They walked in silence to the Three Broomsticks, which was blessedly quiet for a Friday night. Perhaps it was too early for revelries, or perhaps it was too late. Either way, they were able to secure a room and made their way upstairs without trouble.

Once the door was locked and a silencing spell added, Severus sat in the wingback chair next to the roaring fire. Harper helped himself to the bed, indulging in a gentle bounce.

'What delayed you?'

'Sorry?' Harper asked.

'Why didn't you come Friday?'

Harper looked uncomfortable.

'I got caught doing something... illegal.'

Severus frowned.

'Were you arrested?'

'Yes, but not charged. Lucky break, I guess,' he said with a chuckle.

He offered no further information. Severus took a deep breath to quell his mounting frustration.

'What did you buy?'

'Oh, chocolate,' Harper laughed, lifting a small bag. 'Just really good milk chocolate. Cures so many ills.'

'And at Atticus's?'

Harper's smile faded. He lifted another bag and withdrew a large tome. It was odd to see such a new, unabused copy. Harper sighed and dropped it on the bed as if exhausted by its weight.

' _Moste Potente Potions_. _Book of Potions_. Plus a copy of the most recent _Practical Potioneer_.' He gave an embarrassed smile. 'Sort of a pet project.'

Severus stared at the books. They were copies of the books Harry Potter sought from the Hogwarts library. He saw another bag from the local apothecary. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the contents, but he would have confidently bet Galleons that it contained Dreamless Sleep, or at least the ingredients to brew it.

'Nothing more enticing than a potions enthusiast,' Severus purred, standing from the chair. Harper's eyes trailed down his body, before resting enticingly on his hips.

'I can think of a few things.'

As Severus approached him, Harper scrambled backwards, laying himself out on the bed. Severus crawled on top of him, pinning him to the bed with his body.

'I thought of you,' Harper confessed. 'I thought of you a lot.'

'Did you touch yourself?' Severus said lowly, running his hands up Harper's body. He was wearing the leather body armour again, and he didn't keep his wand on his torso. He nipped and kissed at Harper's neck, earning appreciative groans from the man. Running his hands across his shoulders and down his arms, Severus found Harper's wand in a holster on his right arm.

'I didn't,' Harper said, breathless. 'I wanted to wait for the next time I saw you.'

Severus sat up and ran his hands up Harper's forearms, pushing up his sleeves. While his goal had been Harper's wand, his blood ran cold when he saw the Dark Mark on his other arm.

He pulled away instantly and was across the room before Harper even sat up.

"Who are you?" Severus demanded, pointing his wand at Harper, and the man's expression hardened, his own wand out and raised in response. He stood slowly off the bed, visibly struggling to control his panting.

"Who are _you?_ " he countered.

With a flick of his wand, Severus cut Harper's sleeve away. He cried out in alarm and tried to grab the sleeve as it fell away, but it was too late.

"Who are you?" Severus snarled again, jabbing his wand towards the man again aggressively, pointing it specifically at the Dark Mark on the man's arm. "Why do you have one of these?" he demanded, exposing his own Mark.

Harper's eyes widened and the hand covering his own mark slipped away in shock. But the man simply trained his wand back on him.

"I know the name and face of every exposed Death Eater, whether or not they were convicted," the man said very quietly. "So why don't I recognize _you?_ "

Severus drew a breath, preparing to demand to know who this imposter was, again, when he Disapparated with a loud crack.

"No!" Severus howled in frustration. He still had no idea who this Harper was, how he was connected to Harry Potter, or what his intentions were. Given the mark on his arm, though, Severus could guess it was nothing good.


	8. Hallowe'en

**A/N:** Intensely and continuously grateful to TheHelpfulNeighborLady for her work as my beta reader!

* * *

Harry Apparated directly into the tunnel below Honeydukes, shaking. He felt ill and couldn't catch his breath. He had met one of his future attackers, he was sure of it. They had all had Dark Marks on their arms, and yet Harry hadn't recognized any of them. Was this man the one who would eventually kill Matthew? Was this man one of the many Harry would kill in a rage? He had sex with him! He had been going to have sex with him _again!_ His head swirled at the thought.

Swallowing the acid that rose in the back of his throat, Harry shakily drank his Shrinking Solution and stumbled down the passageway up to the school, changing out of his larger clothes and back into his school uniform. He dropped his things several times before yelling and throwing his packages in frustration at the wall. The tinkle of glass sobered him quickly, and he checked the apothecary bag to find half the bottles of Dreamless Sleep broken. There were tears on his face he didn't remember crying, and his hands shook as he tiredly gathered his things back together, cleaning up the broken potions. It took three tries to shrink everything enough to get it all into his pockets. He was almost back to the school when he became aware of voices ahead of him.

His stomach dropped. How had he not noticed someone approaching? He really could not afford to get caught. He was on the outs with Snape, and he was certain Dumbledore had no love for Slytherin Harry Potter.

A bright light illuminated the passage as someone's wand tip lit up.

'Merlin's beard, it's Harry Potter!'

'Wotcher, Harry!'

All his breath left him as Fred and George Weasley grinned at him from out of the darkness. Enthusiastic hands clapped him on the shoulders.

'Afraid he was getting caught!' Fred said, spying the drying tears on his face.

'Blimey, how do you think he figured it out?' George asked his brother in wonder.

'I doubt we would've figured it out without a map,' George admitted with a solemn nod.

'My dad,' Harry croaked at last, finding his voice. 'My dad's nickname at school was Prongs.'

He watched as the twins' eyes went wide with recognition.

'Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and _Prongs!'_ both twins whispered in awe. Harry smiled, feeling weak with relief. He snuffled loudly.

'Of course the progeny of Prongs would figure this out in his first year,' George said with a wink.

'Of course a Slytherin would figure this out in his first year,' Fred countered.

'I didn't figure it out, I knew about the passageway already,' Harry said in a stage whisper. Fred waved him off.

'The point is, you're using it.'

'Yes, there's lot of things our brother Percy is aware of-'

'Percy's a prefect, you know.'

'You did mention, on the train,' Harry reminded them.

'Rightly so,' George admitted. 'Even so-'

'Percy would never use a passageway like this, even if he knew it existed.'

'He's a bit of a git, really.'

'No fun at all.'

Harry laughed. He couldn't help it. The twins beamed.

'You're all right, Harry,' George said, wagging a finger at him as he and Fred moved past him down the passageway.

'Don't listen to Ron,' Fred added. 'He's a bit of a git, too.'

With that, they were off down the tunnel, whispering excitedly to each other.

Taking a deep breath, Harry let it out slowly as his eyes readjusted to the dark. Wiping the sweat from his palms, he continued back up to the school.

* * *

After the disaster that was his last trip to Hogsmeade, Harry was completely ready for a quiet week. But his nightmares started again, now involving the Weasley twins. One particularly unsettling dream had simply been Molly Weasley sobbing alone in the Great Hall. He dosed himself with his recently purchased Dreamless Sleep when the meditating and mind clearing did not work, but as he had half the doses he wanted, he had to be judicious with its use.

He saw Snape watching him: during meals, during class. The man turned up more often when he was in the library, or in the corridors. He didn't address Harry, he just seemed to always be there, watching. He needed to brew more Ageing Potion so he could get back to Hogsmeade to buy more Dreamless Sleep. Snape had not set another Occlumency lesson yet, and given recent events, Harry felt like it might be a bad idea, anyway.

Harry woke on Hallowe'en trembling. He felt unnerved, like he had dreamed something terrible, but he couldn't remember. It was impossible, though, as he had taken a potion. He had almost forgotten about the troll with all that had happened and his efforts to get back to his own time. This was the first event where a life hung in the balance of whether he acted or not.

On his way to the Great Hall for the Hallowe'en feast that evening, Harry caught up to some Gryffindors, and overheard Parvati telling Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' toilets and wanted to be left alone. So it seemed Ron still maintained his vendetta against her. Harry sighed to himself, but a moment later he had entered the Great Hall.

The Hallowe'en decor never failed to take Harry's breath away, but the distraction did not last long.

Harry watched vacantly as Ron piled food on his plate across the hall, and could tell Hermione had left Ron's mind entirely. He was very hesitant to get involved in anything, but Hermione was his best friend. Then again, he and Ron had nearly caused the troll to attack Hermione in the first place.

But Draco nudged him, asking him something about whether he was going to eat, and Harry was done waiting. Hermione's life was on the line. He stood suddenly, slamming his hands onto the table, making a loud bang. His chest felt tight, and time was moving too slowly for him. A hush fell on Slytherin table as the rest of the students looked at Harry – usually so quiet and demure. He ignored them, and the other houses that were now peering over at the disturbance. Harry felt Draco touch his arm, and he flinched away, striding around the table. He knew he should look less adult; shorten his stride, soften his expression, relax his posture. This was not the time. Hermione would not become simply a memory of a past life. Quirrell came sprinting into the hall now, his turban askew and terror on his face as he passed Harry. His eyes met Harry's, and for a split second he seemed calm, almost amused. But it was quickly replaced by fear again. He made it all the way to Dumbledore's spot at the head table, but Harry had broken into a sprint and was already at the other way out of the hall. He heard Draco calling after him, following at a slower trot. He glanced towards the head table as he left. Quirrell was fainting, and Snape... Snape was staring at Harry.

As he sprinted out the doors, Harry heard the uproar and Dumbledore's call to calm the panic. Quirrell had let the troll in as a diversion, but Harry could only be in one place at one time and he had to choose his friend. He had saved her last time, he didn't want to take the chance that she, an eleven year old, would suddenly have it in her to save herself this time.

Harry got to the toilets and burst in. He paused to catch his breath, and Draco came flying in afterwards, knocking into Harry.

Hermione looked over at them, startled, her face red and blotchy from crying, as she gripped the last sink on the wall.

Harry went to her immediately, Draco following like his shadow.

'We have to get out of here.'

'What are you talking about,' Hermione said defiantly, wiping tears off her cheeks and standing up tall. ' _We're_ not going anywhere. _You're_ not even supposed to be in here.'

'What are you doing, Potter,' Draco demanded of Harry, eyeing Hermione suspiciously. 'We're all supposed to be in our dorms. There's a troll in the castle.'

'Oh, you really think I'm going to believe that there's a troll in the castle!'

'Well, you should! He's only trying to save you, stupid!' Draco shouted.

'Draco Malfoy, of all the inane-'

The door creaked open and they all turned. Indeed, a mountain troll was slowly ducking into the toilets, its twelve feet height of disgusting horror filling their only exit.

Hermione screamed, and Draco scrambled around behind Harry. Harry sighed, flicked his wand out and stepped forward.

' _Confringo!_ '

The blasting curse bounced off the troll's shoulder, knocking it aside, and exploded a part of the wall. Hermione screamed again. Adrenaline flooded Harry's system, and he threw his arm towards the door in a sweeping gesture.

'Get out!' he shouted at the two cowering behind him. 'Now! I'll distract him!'

Hermione and Draco remained, frozen in place as Harry darted to the side, waving his arms at the troll.

'Oi! Stupid!'

Harry threw a stinging hex at the troll to further gain its attention, and with another spell, his friends were pushed magically towards the door.

But turning to cast the spell to get his friends out of danger left him open, and the troll was quick to seek revenge for the stinging hex. His club swung into Harry's side, and with a bone-crunching blow, Harry was tossed across the room. He landed painfully on a sink, and slumped to the floor, gasping in pain. He looked to the door. They were gone. With a grunt, the troll advanced.

But before the troll could reach him, Harry made a slashing motion with his wand.

' _Sectumsempra!_ '

A huge gash opened along the troll's torso, and it roared, swinging its club wildly. One slash, and then another, and another as Harry made the wand motions, repeating the spell. The troll was stumbling back and forth, and the club made contact with the toilet stalls, and then it smashed a mirror. Harry wordlessly created a shield spell across himself, and backed up along the sinks. He made a final flourish, and the troll's neck split open straight across, every wound creating a spluttering spray of dark, thick blood. Suddenly, there was screaming from the door, and the troll crashed to the floor to reveal Hermione and Draco holding the door open in horror. A shock of red hair was behind them, and Ron Weasley poked his head through to goggle at the scene. Their juvenile screams became the screams of men. Harry grit his teeth and felt his heart pounding. Not good.

The troll gurgled as the blood slowly to gentle spurts out of its neck, but it slowly quieted to a whistling groan. Hermione was in hysterics, and Draco was in shock, but he held her as she screamed. Harry tried to keep himself in the present. He felt hot and cold in alternating waves. Not a flashback, he thought. Not now.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps brought Hermione back to her senses, and she quieted to heavy, panicked breathing as she clutched at Draco, who was white and staring at Harry. Professor McGonagall burst into the room, closely followed by Snape and Quirrell. Belatedly, Harry realized what a scene it must've been. He was covered in the troll's blood, and the blood was sprayed all around the room.

Quirrell surveyed the room and let out a whimper as he fainted, and even McGonagall looked rather overwhelmed by both the smell and the carnage, holding a hand to her nose. But it was Snape that Harry looked at. He had come in and bent over the troll to examine its wounds, and he slowly stood back up, his eyes locked on Harry, his expression impenetrable.

'What...what on earth were you...' Professor McGonagall said weakly, her eyes roving the room. 'You're lucky you weren't killed.'

'Am I?' Harry said tonelessly, trying to fight the urge to hyperventilate. Snape's eyes narrowed at him. 'I feel like I wasn't the one in danger.' His jaw was clenched, as screams continued to echo in his ears.

'Please, Professor McGonagall – he was looking for me,' Hermione offered hesitantly, finally finding her voice. Ron, looking white as a sheet, stared at her. 'I went looking for the troll because I-'

Professor McGonagall held up her hand to stop her.

'Please, let us continue this conversation in my office. I am finding the environment...' she glanced around again, pressing a clutched fist to her mouth for a moment, 'a little disturbing.'

Draco, Hermione, and Ron wordlessly exited the girls toilets, and McGonagall levitated Quirrell's unconscious body behind her.

'I shall deal with Mr. Potter for the moment,' Snape told McGonagall. She looked at Harry with worried eyes. He had begun to breath hard. It was taking all his concentration not to lash out. Their faces were blurring.

'Yes, of course. Thank you, Severus. You three, with me,' she directed to Hermione, Ron, and Draco. They looked after Harry sadly as they trailed after McGonagall. Snape did not move. Once the others were out of visual range, he performed a locking spell on the door.

'So. You know Sectumsempra,' he said coldly, inspecting the troll's body again. Harry nodded, his wand arm shaking.

'I learned it in my sixth year at Hogwarts,' Harry told him, expecting an interruption. When there was none, he continued. 'I had not purchased a Potions textbook and had to borrow one from Professor Slughorn. The one I borrowed had a previous owner.'

Snape looked up.

'The Half-Blood Prince,' Harry said breathlessly. Snape's lip curled, but he said nothing.

'Look at me, professor.' Harry gestured to himself, still covered in blood. 'Look at what I did,' he demanded, pointing at the troll. 'Do you honestly think I am eleven years old?'

Snape looked at the troll, his eyes glittering. He raised his wand and stepped forward.

'No. I don't.'

Harry let out a breath in relief. Sweat was beading on his brow.

'Thank God.'

Snape looked at him strangely.

'Who are you?'

'Harry Potter.' He took a shuddering breath. 'I'm Harry James Potter.'

'Birth date?'

'July 31, 1980.'

Snape's eyes narrowed.

'How old are you?'

Harry swallowed.

'Twenty-eight.'

'What?' Snape said, his voice dangerously low.

'I'm twenty-eight years old.'

'Dammit, Potter, I heard you the first time!' he snapped. 'Explain yourself!'

'There was a potions accident,' Harry said shortly, shaking. 'I've been trying to reproduce it. The questions, the books. I've been trying to get back.'

Screaming. The sound rang loud in his ears, and it startled him. He stumbled, slipping in the troll blood.

'Was that you?' Harry mumbled from the floor. His side spasmed in pain. 'Did you hear...?'

Snape was watching him. Matthew was dead. They were tying him up.

'No!' he shouted. Something exploded, and he scrambled to his feet. Snape ducked.

'Potter! You are at Hogwarts!'

The voice sounded far away. There were hands on him. He pushed, but they held strong.

'You are safe. Where are you?'

'They killed Samson! They're going to kill me and my team.'

'Who?' asked a low, calm voice in his ear.

'Death Eaters.'

He had taken a burning hex to the shoulder from somewhere above, and the pain suddenly sizzled in his shoulder as if he'd been struck just now.

The killing curse was next.

Harry tried to tell himself he was in the girls' toilets. Severus Snape was even right in front of him, gripping his hands, holding his wand.

'Let go, Potter,' he said urgently.

The green light was coming.

'Look out,' Harry choked, and swept Snape's feet out from under him. He put the taller man down with a surge of strength, casting beyond Snape's body so the man would not be harmed.

The sound the castle made in response to the powerful ward was much different than the house his team had been in. The bathroom was destroyed in an instant; mirrors disintegrated into dust, the doors on the stalls were halved with the shriek of rending metal, toilets and sinks exploded. The troll was thrown at the wall and turned into mincemeat, which then slowly plopped onto the floor in wet clumps.

The castle groaned, but the stone held firm. Only the sounds of the shrapnel settling could be heard for a tense moment.

Harry released Snape in a hurry, stumbling backwards into the wall, where he slouched weakly. His ribs were restricting his breathing, but the pain he had felt from the flashback was gone. He was breathing shallowly, and his fringe was stuck to his forehead with sweat. He knew he probably looked pale, but the lack of mirrors did not allow to confirm how terrible he must have looked. The edges of his vision were going grey, but he hung on through sheer strength of will.

Snape unfurled himself slowly, now covered in the troll's blood himself, his wand trained on Harry. His eyes glittered, but with an emotion Harry did not recognize at first on Severus Snape's face.

It was fear.


	9. The Truth Will Out

**A/N:** Intensely and continuously grateful to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her work as my beta reader!

* * *

Of all the things he could have anticipated happening on Hallowe'en, Severus Snape could honestly say that finding eleven-year-old Harry Potter in the girls toilets, covered in the blood of a troll he had killed with a spell Severus had created in his sixth year, was not even remarkably close to being anywhere on that list.

He had been panting, sweating, looking every inch a hardened warrior: outstretched wand, ready stance, squared shoulders. Potter's eyes held visions of something else, and while Minerva and useless Quirrell did not consider the eleven-year-old boy a threat, Severus immediately acknowledged that Harry Potter was the most dangerous person in the room.

Severus kept his wand pointed at Potter. The destruction of his dorm room suddenly looked like a paltry first year charm compared to the devastation of the girls' toilets and the utter slaughter of the mountain troll that now lay in pieces and spatters all around him. His mind reeled. What had Potter been through in his life that led to the cultivation of this power and skill set?

'You have shell-shock,' Severus remarked, and Potter gave a hollow laugh.

'Yes,' was all he said in reply, as he shakily wiped the sweat and blood off his face with the sleeve of his robe.

They stood in silence for a moment, the eerie dripping of _something_ echoing through the room. Severus lowered his wand since Potter was remaining where he was, slouched against the wall. A moment later he was vomiting, leaning over and adding to the grotesque scenery. Severus turned away, unwilling to offer comfort. As Potter wretched, a bird of silvery plumage burst through the closed door.

 _'Report to my office immediately, Severus. Bring the boy.'_

Albus's voice was quiet but firm, and the Patronus faded from sight before Potter even finished. He watched the boy wipe his mouth on his sleeve, his hand still trembling, eyes watering to the point of tears.

Not even bothering to clean the boy up at all, Severus marched Potter straight to the headmaster's office, at which point Severus fed Albus a tale of inspiring falsehood: Potter had used a Dark spell on the troll to impress his friends. He had not realized it was Dark, and when Severus had informed him of such, Potter had inadvertently thrown a magical tantrum in the girls' toilets. The room was destroyed and Potter was now a mess. Potter zoned out, as if he was exhausted from his tantrum, only grunting in acknowledgment when Severus poked him with a long, pale finger.

'That's enough, Severus,' Albus said, holding up a hand to stop Severus's prodding. 'Harry, are you with us?' he asked gently.

'Sir?' he said waveringly. 'Sir? I di-didn't mean to.'

'Harry,' Albus said with a sympathetic smile. 'I think we all know that.' Severus was uncertain how much of it was acting and how much was Potter's actual reaction. It likely wasn't any easier dealing with a flashback than his episode in the Owlery.

He sat back, and Severus seized the moment.

'I would say he has heartily earned ten detentions,' he said maliciously, gazing down at Potter. 'At _least_.'

'What!?' Potter cried out in a panic, rising from his seat. He looked absolutely betrayed.

'Now, Severus, Harry, we shall come to a fair agreement on your punishment,' Albus said reasonably, giving Severus a look over his half-moon spectacles. 'Harry, you used significant Dark magic within the walls of Hogwarts. Unintentional or not, you have done wrong.'

Potter swallowed hard.

'You will serve five detentions,' Albus pronounced.

'With me,' Severus growled. Albus nodded in acquiescence.

'With Professor Snape,' he agreed.

Potter gave a quiet, strangled cry, and was dismissed.

Severus turned to Albus once Potter was gone, and the headmaster's expression was shuttered.

'I don't understand,' he said softly, 'how things are going so wrong, so quickly.'

The man seemed so old in that moment, Severus felt shame for his deception. But he could not reveal the truth, since he himself was still so uncertain of what, exactly, it was.

Severus remembered Potter's admission. He was from the future. Something about a potions accident. He quickly went through everything he had noted about Harry Potter since the first day. The way he carried himself when he didn't think anyone was looking. The way he spoke to teachers, versus other students. The way he corrected his peers with the flourished finesse of a professor. The way he always seemed to wait at the sidelines, not participating much in classes, yet nailed every spell and every potion with no practice. Some of the professors had been talking about his behavior and performance in the staff room; a few had wondered if he was some sort of genius prodigy. But then there was his panic attack. His nightmares.

And then Harry had destroyed the bathroom with a spell that Severus had never seen before. An intensely powerful, offensive ward. Not even the Dark Lord had used wards in such a manner. It shook him to his core; the raw magical power that emanated from the boy was terrifying. This raw, undiluted surge of power could be explained by nothing but maturity. Potter was definitely no eleven-year-old, and he had some serious training behind him.

'I swear to you, I will fix him on the right path,' Severus pledged. 'For Lily.'

Albus shook his head, his eyes pained.

'I only hope it is not too late. Slytherin does not need another blemish on its house name.'

Severus swallowed hard at Albus's implications. Was twenty-eight year old Harry Potter a Dark wizard? He certainly hoped not.

'I will see to it,' he insisted. Albus dismissed him, retreating to his sorrow as Severus left the office.

* * *

Only a few minutes into his wandering, Harry was seized by the elbow, and Snape was suddenly forcibly escorting him to the dungeons.

'I could get away from you,' Harry said coolly, allowing himself to be pulled along with Snape's long strides. 'Easily.'

'Try it,' he snarled, as they came to a portrait of a medusa, obviously the other side to the portrait that Harry had slammed through in anger more than a month ago.

'Hello,' Harry said to the woman in Parseltongue. She perked right up and gave him a wink.

'Hello to you, too,' she hissed.

'Oh for- _you're a Parselmouth, too?_ ' Snape snapped irritably as he gave his password. The portrait swung forward, and he dragged Harry inside.

Harry's assumption that Snape was taking him to his personal quarters was correct, and he could see the sitting room where he had rested on a cot just beyond a small table and chair set. Snape released Harry as if he were something unpleasant, and spelled two doors shut that had been open as he went into the kitchen and put on a kettle of water to boil.

'Open those doors, Potter, and we shall see how talented you truly are,' Snape threatened lightly. He turned and got two chipped mugs out of a relatively bare cupboard, and a large brown teapot and a tin of tea from another cupboard. He set them on the counter with a sugar bowl and a bottle of milk he took out of a cupboard that was clearly enchanted to stay chilled, like a muggle refrigerator. He finished by taking two small spoons out of a drawer and dropping one in each mug. He then turned back to Harry.

'Now.'

'So, you believe me, then.'

Snape's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

'Yes. Barely.'

'You didn't tell Dumbledore.'

Snape's lip curled.

'You came to me instead of him. You tell _me_ why I didn't tell the headmaster.'

Harry nodded, and gestured to the small table and chairs on the other side of the bar counter. Snape nodded once, and Harry pulled out a chair and sat down.

'I'm not really sure where to begin, or how much to tell you.'

Snape didn't move from his spot in the kitchen. 'You said there were Death Eaters.'

Harry's mouth parted slightly, and he looked down at his hands, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. He hadn't really thought ahead to a time where Snape knew who he was, and when he was from. He had no idea where to start.

Snape walked around the bar counter, despite the water being close to boiling.

'Potter... The Dark Lord... He returns?'

He said the last words so softly, despite standing right in front of him, Harry almost didn't hear it.

'Yes.'

Snape drew a deep breath, his face looking like a mixture of rage and despair, an entanglement of both emotions as he turned away slowly. Suddenly he yelled, doubling over with his fingers threading into and clutching at his hair, as if he was in intense pain. But Harry knew the pain was nothing he could help so he didn't move. The yell ended in a strangled sound, like he very much wanted to cry, but was holding it back. He coughed, and it sounded wet. Slowly, he straightened and stepped, but his shoulders were curved. He smoothed his hair back from his face. The kettle whistled, and he tended to it, making the tea automatically. His face was blank, but his eyes glistened. As he set the lid down into the teapot, he looked back up at Harry. Harry met his eyes.

'How?'

Harry swallowed, and folded his hands very business-like and set them on the table top.

'What do you know about Horcruxes?'

* * *

Their talk in his quarters had left Severus with more questions than answers, other than making him even more certain that Potter was telling the truth about his situation. He had heard whispers of the concept of Horcruxes, but never had anyone ever named them as such. They were simply an unspeakable evil. Not only murder, but the splitting and removal of pieces of your soul, and the anchoring of those pieces to objects. It was the Darkest magic. Potter had been infuriatingly vague after explaining what Horcruxes were, how they were made, and that the Dark Lord had made some. He wouldn't say how many, or what objects they had been made with, nor where they could be found. He didn't even confirm whether they had been destroyed by his time.

When they were down to their last cups from the pot, Severus decided to finally broach the topic of the potions accident.

'So what sort of dunderhead mistake did you make to end up in your eleven-year-old body?'

Potter sighed with a weariness that surprised Severus.

'I got distracted.'

Severus raised an eyebrow in exasperation.

'That speaks of a specific level of ineptitude, to be sure, but certainly not enough to throw you back in time.'

Potter frowned in thought.

'It was supposed to simmer, so I thought I'd do some reading. I grabbed my first year potion text.'

Severus rolled his eyes at the sentimentality. Potter glared at him.

'I was feeling nostalgic,' he explained. 'Some sort of dried potion was on the page I opened to, and it got into the cauldron.'

Severus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes.

'One of the first rules of potion-making...'

'Don't contaminate the brew,' Potter finished brusquely. 'Yes, I know. It doesn't help me now, though, does it?'

They determined that Potter did not remember the page he had opened to, and without an available Pensieve, they had no way to review the memory. The tea was finished, and Potter excused himself. Feeling like his head was now full of too many things, Severus waved him away impatiently. There was much to contemplate.

* * *

Word had traveled fast that Harry Potter had killed the troll in the girls' toilets. The Slytherins and Gryffindors both seemed to be in awe (for different reasons, obviously), the Hufflepuffs were understandably fearful, while many of the Ravenclaws gave him haughty looks from across the hall as if to say, _we could have done it without creating such a mess, you idiot_.

Harry was mostly worried about what his actions had done to his relationships – or lack thereof – with Ron, Hermione, and Draco. They had witnessed it themselves, which was quite different than hearing the story second or thirdhand.

He had been accosted in the Slytherin dorms to recount the story, yet again, of his slaughtering the troll with Dark magic, and so he had retreated to the one place students never seemed to socialize in outside of meal time: the Great Hall.

The vast room seemed even larger when he was the only one in it. After confirming he was alone, he sat at the Gryffindor table and opened his chess set – recently purchased from Hogsmeade – and played himself, spinning the board back and forth, trying to preoccupy his thoughts with strategy instead of the carnage of the previous night.

It wasn't long before someone came into the Great Hall, though, and before he could finish sweeping away his game, Ron stopped in front of him.

'Hey,' Ron said awkwardly, standing a few feet away.

'Hey,' he said back.

Ron looked at him expectantly, and he stood up. Ron took a step back. He sighed.

'I'm really sorry about last night, I just, I didn't know what the spell did. I knew it was powerful and... bad. I just didn't think it'd be _that_ bad.' He sat back down.

Ron swallowed hard.

'I just wanted to protect them.'

'So why didn't you do something you already knew how to do?' Ron asked, clearly still very sceptical of his explanation, but it was the one Snape had given Dumbledore, so he had to go with it.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, aggravated.

'It was honestly the first thing that came to my mind.'

'That was messed up,' Ron said softly.

'Yeah,' Harry confirmed. 'That was not what I intended. I didn't know it was Dark!'

'Why did you keep doing it? Why cut it open like a freak?' Ron demanded. 'That was... sick,' he said, wrinkling his nose.

'I know. It seemed to do the trick in the end, though. I'm sorry. But I'm not evil.'

'You're a Slytherin that uses Dark magic,' Ron said, as though that explained everything. 'Have you thought about getting help?'

'Help?' Harry asked carefully.

'Everyone knows Dark magic can be addictive. It'd be better to talk to someone about it now before it gets out of hand.'

'Whoa, it was one spell,' Harry said defensively, but Ron wasn't backing down.

'I think you should go to Dumbledore.'

'Where do you think Snape took me immediately after you left?' Harry demanded. 'I've got a whole bunch of detentions now, and Dumbledore knows all about it.'

Ron sat down, reluctantly.

'I didn't think you would hold house prejudices near and dear,' Harry said bitterly, fiddling with the white queen. Ron flushed angrily.

'You turned out to be just another wanker from Slytherin that knows too much about the Dark Arts,' Ron said. 'Who's holding near and dear now?'

When Harry looked confused, Ron continued.

'You disappeared, Harry. It's like we never even met. You'd rather eat at the Slytherin table alone.'

Ron was beet red. Harry suddenly felt very sad.

'Ron, I... I'm sorry. It's been an adjustment,' he said honestly. 'I didn't really expect _Slytherin_ , you know?'

Ron gave a half-hearted laugh.

'I don't think anyone did.'

'I didn't mean to give you the cold shoulder.'

Ron nodded, and they sat in silence for a little while.

'Do you play?' Ron asked, gesturing to the chessboard Harry had left scattered.

'Not well,' Harry admitted, though he supposed with playing against Snape he had bettered his skills.

'I guess we'll see,' Ron pronounced, opening the board and setting up the pieces.

* * *

After reaching some sort of truce with Ron, Harry felt lighter. Draco seemed ready to start a Harry Potter fan club, and Hermione – while worried about his foray into the Dark Arts – seemed mostly grateful to have been saved from the troll.

It made heading into his first detention with Snape after Hallowe'en less worrisome. After their talk in Snape's quarters, Harry had no idea how the man was processing all he told him. He didn't know what to expect from these detentions, either. They were based on a lie, essentially, so would Snape be treating them as real detentions or not? There was only one way to find out.

He showed up at seven o'clock that Saturday, and found Snape sitting at his desk. As he sat across from the professor, Snape conjured a tea tray. Harry raised an eyebrow and smirked.

'Not feeling the punishment today, sir?'

Snape glared at him.

'We are almost the same age, and you graduated Hogwarts over a decade ago,' he commented. 'It seems bizarre for you to call me _sir_.'

'I didn't, actually,' Harry replied as Snape handed him a delicate china cup. He frowned.

'What do you mean?'

'I never graduated from Hogwarts.'

Snape froze, almost comically.

'Hogwarts-'

'Was fine when I left,' Harry finished, suppressing a smile. 'But I never went for my seventh year.'

Snape looked as though a million questions had just bubbled up inside of him, and he clamped his mouth shut around them. He swallowed hard and focused on one of them.

'Why?'

It was Harry's turn to frown. How much to reveal? Dumbledore had already, or would shortly, figure out the Horcrux problem. He and the staff at Hogwarts would realize that Voldemort still existed, if there was ever any doubt that he did. But if Harry got back to his own time, what would Snape do with the information?

'I hunted Horcruxes.'

Snape almost flinched at the word.

'Now, I'm going to ask you to stop questioning me,' Harry instructed. 'I don't plan on staying here, and I have no idea how my even being here – or telling you all about what's to come – is going to affect the future.'

'You wish to get back?'

'Of course,' Harry said quickly. 'Are you obtuse?' Snape's nostrils flared indignantly, but he said nothing about the insult.

'Many would jump at the change to change their past,' he commented. 'Especially if it has as much... horror in it as I suspect yours does.'

Harry's mouth went dry and he took a large mouthful of tea, burning the roof of his mouth in the process. His eyes watered.

'My past will remain the same, no matter what I do here, remember?' Harry said with a watery cough. 'It wouldn't change everything I've already seen. Everything I've already lived through.'

Snape nodded once in acceptance.

'Either way, you may call me Severus in private.'


	10. One of My Snakes

Thanks to the readers who caught my brain-fart in the last chapter. It has been updated. You'll likely recognize some direct quotes from the book in this one. Very thankful to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her work as my beta reader!

* * *

Snape proved to be a dedicated research partner now that he was aware of the situation. He still seemed suspicious, and he began chastising Harry several times for things that students were forbidden from doing, before he would remember that Harry was no student. They poured over texts, and postulated theories back and forth about brewing, the Mutamorph Potion itself, and what may have fallen out of his first year textbook.

By Wednesday, they were no further ahead, and sat dejected with an empty teapot and books strewn all over Severus' desk.

'You claim that the Mutamorph Potion works only with the assent of the users,' Snape said, suddenly.

'Yeah,' Harry said, still feeling morose.

Snape sat up straighter.

'Did you assent to the switch?'

'No,' Harry admitted. 'But the potion wasn't finished. The addition of dried lilac and wolf's-foot clubmoss create the consent requirement, as far as I understand it. I hadn't added those, yet.'

Snape frowned, pushing his curled hand into his mouth as he thought. After a few moments, his eyes lifted and met Harry's.

'This may not be reversible.'

'I have to try,' Harry insisted, feeling a nervous weakness flood his system. His pulse raced weakly in his neck. 'I can't live like this.'

Dropping his hand, Snape narrowed his eyes.

'Like what?'

'Like this!' Harry snapped, standing from his seat and beginning to pace. Standing so suddenly made him dizzy, but he managed to stay balanced. 'It's exhausting enough being surrounded by children all the time – believe me, you have my sympathy – but having to pretend to be one as well... it's _beyond_ exhausting.'

'You are free to be yourself _here_ ,' Snape reminded him.

'Yeah, well, unless I want to get detention after detention, I can't really just hang out with my professor night after night, can I?' He folded his arms over his chest petulantly. 'It's not just that, though. My life was...'

'In shambles.'

Harry looked at Snape, who was giving him a knowing look. The man sat back in his chair with a slight air of smugness.

'And you've brought nightmares, panic attacks, and flashbacks with you, Potter.'

'I had _friends_ ,' Harry hissed defensively. Snape's words were striking very sore nerves. 'Fam- I had _family_.' Hot tears filled his eyes before he could turn away. Not even one sob and he was struggling to breathe normally.

Snape looked vaguely perturbed.

'They're gone,' Harry said softly, his tears falling. 'And it's not the same.'

Harry slowly grabbed his books off the desk and swallowed his heartbreak. Snape watched him with an unreadable expression. When Harry made for the door, Snape did not stop him.

* * *

After crying himself to sleep, Harry slept rather well without any potion. Thursday, he woke feeling nauseated, and only had a weak cup of tea at breakfast. He fell asleep in History of Magic, but Draco kept prodding him awake so he avoided trouble. He felt weak all day, and he figured he really should perhaps eat something again.

Friday, Harry was overwhelmed with both Draco talking nonstop about the upcoming Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch game on Saturday, but also Ron's demands to prove himself by cheering for Gryffindor. Draco of course overheard, and so the bickering began once more. He distracted himself by stuffing himself with food at every meal, despite his protesting stomach. When nothing came back up, he counted it as a victory.

Saturday dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter or everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match. Harry was on edge, wondering if Quirrell would act today. Realistically, he should have been on the lookout the whole time.

'You've got to eat some breakfast.'

'I don't want anything.' He could skip breakfast and eat a hearty lunch like he did the day before. But he was certain that this time, something _would_ come back up.

Draco gave him a look.

'You're going to waste away to nothing, Potter, and then Snape will have _my_ arse for not looking out for you.'

Harry scowled at him. He felt terrible and would much rather be in bed, but he couldn't not be at the Quidditch match. He had to know.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars, and Draco promised to let Harry borrow his shiny, gold-plated pair. He had yet to hand them over, however, and mostly left Harry on his own, though he did occasionally describe what he saw.

Harry sat them not too far from Ron and Hermione, and gave them a hesitant wave. Draco snapped at him to stop when Hermione enthusiastically waved back. Ron grinned and waved, too, once he saw how upset it made Draco.

' _Why_ are you friends with them,' Draco insisted under his breath.

'Why are you friends with me?' Harry countered.

'You provide a strategic advantage to my life,' Draco said promptly with an arrogant smirk. Harry nudged him with an elbow. Surprisingly, Draco accepted it with a good-natured smile.

As the teams assembled on the pitch, Harry realized he hadn't thought to ask who was playing for Gryffindor.

'Who's the Gryffindor Seeker?' Harry asked after Draco didn't respond to his heavy hint that he should, in fact, make good on his promise to share his binoculars.

'McLaggen, I think?'

Harry groaned inwardly.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up into the air. They were off.

'And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –'

'JORDAN!'

'Sorry, Professor.'

It seemed Oliver Wood's game plan for McLaggen was to stay out of the way, but he kept dipping down to shout at his fellow players. Harry felt his stomach do a sharp twist, and not necessarily from nerves. He felt almost smothered, as if he couldn't get enough air. He wrapped his arms around his middle and huddled down. Draco was staring, enraptured, through his binoculars.

'Slytherin in possession,' Lee Jordan was saying. 'Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?'

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Seekers Cormac McLaggen and Terrence Higgs both saw it and dropped into dives. Harry's stomach lurched and he broke out in a sweat.

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below – Marcus Flint had blocked McLaggen on purpose and McLaggen's broom span off course.

As the Gryffindors screamed for foul, Harry doubled-over and vomited. The shouting from the crowds drowned out the sound, but Draco caught a whiff quickly enough.

'Potter, what – eurgh!'

Harry felt himself hoisted back up to sitting, and his face magically cleaned. The world swayed dangerously and Harry tried moving to right it, but Draco held him still. The blond looked paler than usual.

'I think I'll go back up to the dorm,' Harry said weakly, as Gryffindor took a free shot on Slytherin's goal. 'Not feeling well.'

'Obviously,' Draco spat, but there was no venom behind it. 'Next time warn me, and I won't wear my good boots.'

Harry waved him off, and stood. The Quidditch pitch instantly faded to black, and Harry felt himself fall. Students around them made sounds of alarm, and Harry heard Draco shush them authoritatively as he shook Harry.

'Potter!' he hissed. 'You're creating a spectacle.'

Slowly, Harry's vision came back.

'What did you do to Harry?' Ron came climbing angrily through the stands towards them, Hermione following behind.

'Nothing, Weasley,' Draco snapped. 'He's ill.' As if to demonstrate, Harry's stomach lurched and he vomited again. This time, the students in front of them became disgusted, getting up to move away.

'Harry!' Hermione said worriedly, pushing towards him. She sat next to him and quietly gasped, then began frantically rubbing his back. 'We need to get you to the hospital wing.'

Someone's spellwork – probably Draco's again – cleaned him up, and the skin around his mouth began to itch. His vision was greyed out, and sweat was beginning to soak his robes.

'I already told him that,' Draco snapped. He sounded stressed. 'You think it's that easy to make him move?'

'Harry, let's go,' Ron commanded beside him as Hermione moved aside. Suddenly, he was hoisted by his left arm, and Ron's shoulder nestled underneath his armpit. A more hesitant set of arms took his right arm, but Draco's familiar presence pressed into his side.

'I'll go ahead and let Madam Pomfrey know,' Hermione said breathlessly.

'No!' Harry insisted, his voice whingeing instead of commanding, as he intended. 'Please find Professor Snape.'

Hermione looked conflicted, and hesitated.

' _Snape_ , Granger!' Draco shouted. 'Go get him!'

She turned and ran down the stands as fast as people would move out of the way. Harry's vision kept greying in and out as Draco and Ron all but carried him out of the stands. Slytherin broke out in a cheer as they got to the ground level.

'No!' Ron said in dismay, but Draco sneered.

'Your team is terrible, Weasley. Just accept the loss now, it will be easier in the long run.'

'Gryffindor is good,' Harry insisted softly. Draco scoffed.

'I'll let that one go since you clearly aren't in your right mind.'

Draco led the way to the Slytherin dormitory, and let them in only after Ron swore he wouldn't tell anyone the password, nor use it himself.

'It's there for a reason, Weasley.'

They laid Harry on his bed, and Draco was able to turn a pair of socks into a bucket. It had the same colour pattern as the socks, though, and was slightly pliable. Draco's nose wrinkled in disgust when Harry heaved again. Ron paced and avoided looking at him.

The door opened and Snape stepped inside, followed by Hermione. His eyes narrowed on Harry.

'Thank you for fetching me, Ms. Granger. Mr. Potter and I will need some privacy.'

Hermione nodded and scampered out of the room quickly.

'That includes you, too,' Snape said pointedly to Ron and Draco. Ron turned red and followed Hermione, but Draco made much more of a fuss, as it was his room, too.

'Just get out,' Severus snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

At last they were alone. After casting a silencing charm on the door, Snape folded his arms across his chest.

'I should be celebrating Slytherin's victory right now,' he said tersely. 'Tell me this is something you already know how to resolve.'

Harry shook his head, swallowing hard.

'I don't know what's happening.'

Snape raised an eyebrow.

'Are you dosing yourself indiscriminately?'

'No!' Harry insisted. He had to swallow hard as he tasted acid. His eyes watered. Thankfully, it passed. 'I… I don't think so?'

Snape crouched down so he could look into Harry's face, and Harry recoiled in embarrassment. He did not want to be so closely inspected by Snape right now. Scowling, Snape grabbed Harry's chin and brought it forward. His eyes looked over his face, and then he inspected Harry's hands, feeling his clammy palms with his long, potion-stained fingers. For a brief moment, Harry felt warm, safe, and well.

But then Snape withdrew, and the sickness roiled heavily in his gut.

'I will need to assess your emesis.'

'Great,' Harry said weakly. 'Stand by.'

They remained in silence as Harry sat, waiting for his stomach to churn hard enough to warrant vomiting again. He struggled to keep his breath, and his head throbbed. Snape finally moved toward him, pressing two fingers into his neck.

'Your pulse is rapid,' he commented. Harry nodded, pulling away. Taking a step back, Snape gave him room to vomit.

When he sat up, Snape traded him a wet cloth for the small bucket Draco had produced. As Harry wiped his face, Snape cast a number of spells on the bucket, included a de-smelling charm. He looked utterly repulsed, nonetheless, as he spelled a small amount into an empty glass phial he withdrew from his robes.

'You carry empty potions phials with you everywhere?' Harry asked with a feeble chuckle. Snape eyed him critically.

'Yes,' was all he said. He pocketed the phial and vanished the sick out of the bucket, transfiguring it into a proper metal bucket, which he placed at Harry's bedside. He breathed deeply through his nose and crouched down again beside Harry.

'I will need to take some of your blood, as well.'

Harry nodded. It was a routine medical procedure he was used to. He rolled up his sleeve. Snape gave him a look and took his left arm to roll it up. It was still unmarked.

'It should be done on your non-dominant side,' he said, by way of explanation.

'I know.'

Snape wrapped his hand around Harry's bicep just above the elbow and firmly squeezed. Harry's veins stood out quickly, and Severus poked at them with his wand.

' _Phlebaposyro_ ,' he murmured, and then tapped a second empty phial, pressing it against Harry's skin next to the vein. It filled magically with Harry's blood until Severus extinguished the spell.

Snape stood, pocketing the phial.

'You should rest.'

'That sounds nice,' Harry muttered, laying down. He hoped the world would stop swaying so much, soon.

* * *

Severus had specially chosen a selection of snacks from Hogsmeade and brought them to Potter under strict orders to eat nothing except what he had bought. He suspected poison, but given all the ways poisons could be administered, he would start with food and rule out routes of exposure from there.

He did not realize Potter's life would be in his hands so early in his Hogwarts career. The boy – no, man – had denied that this had happened in his previous life, but Severus wasn't quite sure he believed him. He barely believed that Potter wasn't just an eleven-year-old boy. Suddenly, Harry Potter being gifted wasn't that ridiculous of an explanation for things.

Refining Potter's blood took most of Sunday morning, but by lunch, he finally had an answer.

It was cyanide poisoning.

Most poisons acted through their magic; their ingredients alone were usually fairly innocuous. It was the brewing process – almost always suitably complex – that created the magic of death. Magical poisons were meant to be subtle. Some could easily be masked as other substances. One left no trace at all. They were meant to destroy physically, emotionally, psychologically. Besides kill you, many drove you insane first, or disabled the body so painfully that death was a welcome relief.

Cyanide was so basic, it was almost muggle. But in the magical community, it might have been overlooked in favour of a more complicated explanation.

He sat at his desk, staring at the various products of Potter's blood and the small sample of cyanide. Potter had a moderate level in his blood and needed an antidote quickly. As Severus gathered the required ingredients and tools, his mind ran over the various ways Potter could be exposed to cyanide. It could be inhaled, absorbed through the skin, or even eaten. He could brew an antidote, but it would be virtually useless unless they were able to identify how Potter was being poisoned.

* * *

'It will take four days to brew the antidote.'

Snape was up front with Harry's prognosis, for which he was grateful. He needed nothing to be sugar-coated.

'You do not seem to be surprised.'

Harry sighed.

'Would you sit?'

He gestured to his bed. As awkward as it was to have Severus Snape sit on his bed while he lay in it, it was more uncomfortable to have him standing over him. Stiffly and slowly, Snape sat on the very end of Harry's bed.

'An attempt was made on my life at about this time in my first year,' Harry explained. 'My _first_ first year,' he added.

'And?' Snape demanded.

'My broom was cursed. I very nearly fell to my death.'

'In class? By whom?'

'It was at my first Quidditch game. Gryffindor versus Slytherin.'

Snape scowled.

'First years do not play Quidditch.'

Harry heaved a deep sigh.

'I did.'

'And?'

Harry looked at Snape for a moment, taking note of his speculative, black eyes. It was hard to imagine that Snape didn't remember it. He looked away.

'You saved me.'

Snape looked satisfied.

'You are one of my students,' he said, as if it were all in a day's work to save a student's life with elaborate counter-curses or brewing antidotes.

Harry snorted.

'I wasn't that time.'

Snape narrowed his eyes.

'You were in _Gryffindor?_ ' he asked dangerously, as if Harry had just uttered the most insulting of epithets.

'I was,' Harry said with a chuckle. 'And the youngest house player in about a century.'

'Minerva would never allow it.'

'She was very determined to beat Slytherin.'

Snape looked as though he were contemplating a smile, but then he frowned.

'Who cursed your broom?'

Harry took a deep breath.

'Quirrell.'

* * *

After being shepherded to classes by Draco, and closely monitored by all his friends during the week, Harry met Snape at the door to his quarters after the last class of the day on Thursday. Snape had the antidote with him, and directed him to remain in the kitchen.

'The dose is substantial for Coalamin Solution,' he warned as he took out a large syringe with a wickedly long needle. 'It also must be administered via intramuscular injection.'

Harry instantly felt weak.

'That's fine,' he said, unconvincingly.

Snape drew the dark red potion up into the syringe and held it aloft to check it, priming it with a gentle squeeze.

'The thigh or buttocks would be best.'

'Great,' Harry muttered, hiking up his robes and leaning over the counter. 'I'll just think of England.'

Snape smirked and moved behind him.

He felt a painful pinch in the lower part of his right cheek, just where it peeked out from his pants. A burning sensation filled the whole muscle before spreading down into his leg, and up into his back. He couldn't help the whimper that escaped his lips as he pushed his forehead into the countertop. He banged his head a couple times to serve as a distraction, but the pain continued and spread through his whole body like fire. Snape casually draped Harry's robes back over him as he stepped away just as Harry's legs collapsed and he slid to the floor.

'Potter!'

Harry was sweating. He could feel it beading on his face before spilling down his forehead, cheeks, and throat. Snape knelt over him, but did not touch him, an amused light in his eyes.

'It will pass,' he said confidently.

'I feel like I'm on fire,' Harry ground out, tears leaking out of his eyes. His mouth was salivating to the point of foaming as he spoke. He moaned loudly as an outlet for the pain, and turned his head away from Snape.

'Your body is purging the cyanide.'

'Through my pores?' Harry growled.

'Yes.'

'Fuck _me_ ,' Harry groaned.

It passed, as Snape promised, several minutes later. Harry lay on the floor, his robes soaked, his face covered in sweat, tears, and spittle. Snape handed him a towel, and Harry wiped himself before Snape helped him up.

'You must shower.'

'I will,' Harry promised, but Snape pointed at one of the doors he had spelled shut during his last visit.

'I won't have you traipsing through the halls soaking wet. Through the second door. Do. not. touch. anything.'

Harry opened the door Snape directed him to, and walked through a dark bedroom to another open door. He still felt slightly dazed by the treatment as he stood under the pelting water. The coolness from the shower soothed his prickling skin, and he found his robes had been cleaned and dried – as best they could be, magically – after he got out. Snape was sitting at the kitchen table with tea when he came back, and directed Harry to sit.

'The house elves have not reported anyone tampering with your food, or anyone else's,' Snape told him, fixing him a cup of tea. 'And there are few and far between sources of cyanide in the castle in general.'

'But you found it?' Harry asked, wrapping his hands around his cup of tea. He hadn't felt so disconcertingly normal in a long time.

Snape inclined his head.

'It was in your nutritive potions.'

Harry stared at him.

'What?'

'At the beginning of the year, I arranged to have your diet supplemented with a nutritive potion. To help you gain weight.'

Harry sat back, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

'Why?'

'I do it for all my snakes,' Snape said, dismissively. 'You are small for your age.'

Harry smiled at Snape in wonder.

'What?' he snapped, defensively.

'You just... you're always looking out for me. Saving me.'

A small crinkle appeared in Snape's forehead for a moment, but it disappeared.

'I admit to being curious as to why you insist on repeatedly putting yourself into situations where you need a saviour.'

'Just to see if you'll come running,' Harry smirked, taking a sip from his tea.


	11. Veritaserum

**A/N:** Delay due to overtime at work, some writer's block, and an overwhelming Outlander addiction. Very thankful to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her work (and patience!) as my beta reader!

* * *

It was December before either of them made any real headway with their research. Snape had made a breakthrough. But it wasn't something he had uncovered, so much as the _opportunity_ to uncover something.

'I have arranged to use the headmaster's Pensieve,' he told Harry as they relaxed with tea after an Occlumency lesson. Harry's stomach dropped. Pensieves were rarely associated with good things in his life.

'When?'

'Now.'

Harry sat back, abandoning his tea.

'And you couldn't have told me this earlier?'

'It was not applicable until we finished our lesson.'

Harry sighed, scratching his head. He would be the one controlling the memory extraction, after all. Snape wouldn't have a free-for-all in his head.

'All right, then.'

Snape went and opened a locked cabinet in the back of the classroom and brought the heavy stone basin to the desk, setting it down almost reverently.

'This will work?'

'Not only will this allow us to see the finer details of your accident, but it also circumvents your unwillingness for me to go digging through your mind for the answer.'

Harry folded his arms and smirked.

'You have no idea how enticing you make it sound.'

Snape snorted gently, but no smile actually appeared on his face.

'You know how to extract memories?'

Harry rolled his eyes and drew his wand. He closed his eyes and brought the incident to his mind, remembering how that day had gone. He tapped his wand gently against his temple, and the memory faded as he pulled it away. Opening his eyes, he directed his wand tip to the basin, letting the crinkly, white memory thread slip into the fluid of the Pensieve.

His own twenty-eight year old face was visible on the surface, now, and Harry looked at Snape, feeling awkward.

'I will only be a moment,' Snape reassured him.

'Like hell. I'm coming with.'

Snape gave a long-suffering sigh, and together, they entered the memory.

* * *

They arrived in a small flat, and a much older Potter swept past them to put on water to boil in a tiny kitchen. Then he went around the sitting room where Severus and the younger Potter stood, silently directing furniture, cauldrons, ingredients, and books into a temporary lab configuration. Severus was impressed. It was smooth; nothing bumped in mid-air, everything landed gently. Older Potter had done it before, many times. Younger Potter stood back, assessing both his other self and Severus.

Older Potter had three stations set up before the water finished boiling. He made a pot of tea and sat to enjoy a cup. Severus barely held back a growl, and Younger Potter laughed.

'It was a slow morning,' he commented.

'What did you intend to make?' Severus asked, leaving Older Potter to himself in the kitchen, and observing the stations, and the books that had been laid out.

'I was making Blood Replenisher, Mutamorph Potion, and Felix Felicis,' Younger Potter remembered. 'I never did get the Blood Replenisher started.'

Severus nodded. It was the most simplistic, and would only need a couple hours to brew, while Felix Felicis was considerably complicated, and Mutamorph Potion had an extended brewing time, like Polyjuice.

Finally, Older Potter joined them, and began the brewing process for the Felix Felicis. Severus had no criticisms. Older Potter knew what he was doing, just like Younger Potter. But it was boring for Severus, and did not show what he wanted to know. He instead went to browse the bookshelves as Older Potter puttered around at his own pace, enjoying another cup of tea as he went.

After the tea, he came back to begin the Mutamorph Potion. Finally, Severus was interested. He and Younger Potter hovered close over Older Potter's shoulders, reading and committing to memory the ingredient list and process for brewing. They watched carefully as he completed the first phase, and then wandered away to his bookshelves, looking deep in thought.

'What is going on here,' Severus asked, motioning to Older Potter. Younger Potter smiled fondly.

'I was thinking about you.'

Severus could not help the startled look. Younger Potter's smile grew.

'I was thinking about how much you mocked me during classes, and what you would have thought of me brewing potions for work.'

'You mentioned that Horace Slughorn taught you in sixth year,' Severus said, unable to find the voice to continue. His mouth had gone dry. Would he discover the date of his own death?

Younger Potter nodded.

'Dumbledore finally gave you the Defence position.'

Severus let out the breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

Older Potter wandered over at last, smoothing the cover of a ratty copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_.

'Here we go,' Younger Potter breathed. They came up behind Older Potter, watching the book pages as he approached the cauldron of Mutamorph base. He cracked the book open, and a trickle of dust came out of the spine.

'Dust. Likely skin cells from you at that age,' Severus explained as Older Potter opened the book to Cure for Boils. A spatter of bright green potion flaked off into the cauldron below.

'Shrinking Solution,' Severus muttered. Why was Shrinking Solution staining the page for Cure for Boils?

'No!' Older Potter shouted at once, snapping the book shut and throwing it aside. The potion glowed an ethereal blue and a plume of smoke exploded upwards, and Older Potter choked on the thick, chalky cloud. He stumbled back, coughing and hacking. His eyes streamed as he caught his breath. It was strange to watch it, unable to assist.

Older Potter wiped at his cheeks hastily, and rubbed his fingers together in front of his face, feeling the texture of the viscous scum on his hands. His sleeves had slid down, exposing his forearms. On his left arm was a series of thick scars on the radial edge... right next to a Dark Mark.

Severus's stomach clenched hard, and he felt rather weak in the knees. Harper wasn't just connected to Harry Potter. Harper _was_ Harry Potter.

Older Potter shut his eyes hard for a few seconds, and then opened his eyes. He did it again. Clenching his eyes shut again, he took a deep breath.

Suddenly, the entire scene changed beneath their feet, and in the exact same position in front of them, stood Younger Harry. He opened his eyes in wide-eyed wonder.

'Mr. Potter, _please_. We are waiting,' McGonagall encouraged.

Severus looked over at Potter as the memory dissolved around them, and they landed back in his classroom.

'Get. Out.'

Potter looked startled.

'What? Why?'

'Get out!' Severus shouted. 'I do not need a reason! _GET OUT!_ '

Gaping for a moment in confusion – but not fear – Potter left.

* * *

Snape did not summon him the entire weekend, and Harry was already feeling completely off-kilter when he arrived in Potions class Monday morning to find Albus Dumbledore sitting in the back of the room.

'The Headmaster is observing classes this week,' Snape announced before everyone got settled. 'You are not to interact with him unless he initiates.'

Harry met Dumbledore's twinkling eyes across the room, and offered a faint smile before sitting next to Draco. The lesson was basic, and they brewed individually. Dumbledore started making the rounds after the brewing was well underway, talking to each student briefly. He stopped in front of Harry's cauldron, and looked into it, nodding and humming.

'Well done, Harry,' Dumbledore commented. 'Have you brewed this before?'

Harry glanced around and saw that even Draco and Hermione were struggling to get theirs on track to be completed in time. Snape was overlooking Crabbe and Goyle's attempts with disgust, and made eye contact with Harry, giving a brief nod.

'Ah, yes sir,' Harry said quickly, 'Professor Snape has been an excellent tutor.'

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise.

'How generous of our Potions Master,' he said congenially, before moving on to Draco.

Dumbledore turned up in many of his lessons that week, which perplexed Harry. The headmaster had never done this in all his years at Hogwarts. The only time something similar had occurred was when Umbridge had audited the professors, and there was certainly no precedent for it now. Snape seemed to be avoiding him again, too, which only added to Harry's frustration. He wanted to work on the Mutamorph Potion and a way to get home.

As he went to leave Charms on Friday afternoon, Harry felt the pressure mounting. He had wanted to make a quiet exit over the Christmas holidays. Snape would help his younger self catch up and integrate before the rest of the students returned. So he marched down to the dungeons, and knocked firmly on Snape's classroom door. He held his breath for a tense moment, but the door eventually opened, revealing Snape. Further in the room stood Dumbledore, looking rather grave.

'What is it,' Snape said, irritably.

'Sorry for interrupting,' Harry began hurriedly. 'I just wanted to see if you were still free for... tutoring this evening?'

Dumbledore eyed Snape sharply from behind him, and Snape's eyes narrowed, clearly uncomfortable with being put on the spot.

'Yes. Seven o'clock, Mr. Potter. Do not be late.'

The door closed, and Harry hurried away, uncertain of what he had just witnessed.

* * *

Severus closed the door and sighed as silently as he could.

' _Another_ lesson, Severus?'

He turned back to the headmaster.

'Yes. You've seen his skill. He is bored in class.' He walked back to his desk and sat as Albus continued to lean casually on a student desk.

'That is what this is about,' Albus reminded him. 'Why haven't you brought up his gifts before?'

Severus bit back a growl.

'The rest of the staff have been singing his intellectual praises for months now, Albus,' he said. 'I thought you would be elated that I am finally admitting the boy _has_ something.'

'You are his head of house, Severus,' Albus said tersely, standing up straight. 'You need to be directing Harry's care.'

Severus took a deep breath as his thoughts whirled. Albus's observation of various classes – all containing Harry Potter – had been unexpected for most of the staff. He was maintaining innocence by saying his Occlumency lessons with Potter were nothing but extra tutoring; challenging extra assignments to keep the gifted boy busy. But now the headmaster was provoking him and asking why he hadn't requested more for Potter from the other professors.

'I had to be certain,' Severus said softly. 'I had thought...'

Albus frowned, leaning forward slightly.

'Thought what?'

Severus sighed, trying to look shamed.

'I had thought he was an imposter.'

Albus looked thoughtful, leaning back against a desk.

'An imposter.'

'Yes!' Severus insisted. 'I thought the offspring of Lily couldn't-' he swallowed hard, '-couldn't possibly be _Slytherin_.' He spat the word like an epithet. 'And I thought the offspring of _Potter_ couldn't possibly be that intelligent.' He huffed as though the admission were a weight off his chest. Albus smiled at him.

'Severus, you know I care deeply for you,' Albus said, his eyes twinkling. 'But sometimes, you are mad as a bag of ferrets.'

Severus couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips, and dropped his head in relief.

'I had thought you were wrong, and the real threat was Potter.'

Albus's gaze hardened.

'I am not wrong, Severus. Quirinus _is_ the real threat. We need to wait for him to expose himself.'

Severus looked back up at Albus.

'He poisoned Potter.'

Albus frowned.

'Why did you not tell me this before?'

'It is still just suspicion. I cannot confirm it,' Severus said, frustrated, standing and beginning to pace. 'I brewed an antidote, and removed the source of the poison. He will not make another such attempt,' he said confidently.

At Potter's urging, Severus had restrained himself. He had binned all the nutritive potions marked for Harry Potter. He had merely cornered Quirrell in a dark corridor, spinning a false tale regarding Quirrell being spotted at Madam Pomfrey's medicine cabinet, and now students were falling ill. The vague threat of _you must not be seen_ was enough to send the small man into stuttering hysterics. Regardless of whether it was an act or not, Severus made sure that Potter's nutritive potions would be delivered directly to Potter from his potions laboratory.

Albus looked vaguely perturbed.

'I wish you had spoken to me about this, earlier.' He shut his eyes and shook his head. 'This was not supposed to turn into a discussion about Quirinus.'

'Of course,' Severus acquiesced. Albus sighed.

'Harry is remarkably like other brilliant students Hogwarts has seen through Slytherin House,' Albus said, giving Severus a look over his glasses. 'We must steer him on the right path, Severus, and make sure he gets the stimulus he needs. The _guidance_.'

Severus winced at the words, but nodded.

Albus told him he would seek the cooperation from several other teachers to effectively _keep Harry busy_ , and left Severus to his thoughts. How spoiled would everything be if Potter managed to return to his own time and body?

* * *

Severus had gone back and forth on whether to break into Potter's mind using Legilimency, but had ultimately ruled it out. It was dangerous, likely would be difficult to find what he wanted, and there was the unlikely chance that Potter would be able to keep him out indefinitely. He would not risk such a humiliation.

So it was after their lesson, when he conjured tea, that Severus attempted to pull the truth from Potter. He had prearranged the tea tray, putting three drops of Veritaserum into Potter's cup. It was almost impossible to tell that it was there, visually. Potter wouldn't know until it was too late.

'So why is Dumbledore watching the classes?' Potter asked, accepting his cup of tea. Severus tried not to watch him too closely, preoccupying himself with fixing his own cup.

'This did not happen in your own time?' he asked innocently. Potter took a large gulp of tea, and snorted.

'Not in all my six years.'

Severus took a sip from his own cup.

'It's because of you.'

Potter looked surprised.

'Why?' He took another large gulp of tea. Another two and he would be finished.

'Surely you are not so dense that you think you are performing at a first year level.' He wordlessly offered Potter a biscuit. It would make him thirsty and more prone to finish his tea quickly. Potter took a biscuit with a nod of thanks.

'Of course not,' Potter said quickly, taking another sip of tea. 'But there is only so much I can suppress my abilities without flat out making intentional mistakes, which at least McGonagall isn't fooled by.'

His words were getting slower. He took a bite of his biscuit and chewed it slowly. Potter drank the rest of his tea to wash it down, and his face finally took on the slack-jawed expression of someone fully under the influence of Veritaserum.

'I feel... tired,' he said, as if confused. Severus leaned forward, clearing the tea tray off his desk.

'What is your full name?'

'Harry James Potter,' he said. 'What's yours?'

Severus swallowed. Most victims felt too hazy to say anything other than the truth that the potion pushed them to tell.

'Severus Tobias Snape.'

Potter's smile grew.

'I knew that already.'

'How old are you?'

Potter eyed him lazily.

'Twenty-eight.'

Severus's eyes glittered.

'What is your occupation?'

These were all questions he knew Potter's answers to; they would create the baseline.

'I am an Auror.'

Severus nodded, sketching a quick note on the parchment before him.

'But,' Potter continued, startling Severus, 'those duties usually take a back seat to my role as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.'

Severus blanched slightly.

'That is a lofty title for someone of twenty-eight,' he commented lightly.

'Funny, since I got the promotion when I was twenty-seven,' Potter grinned stupidly.

'How did you defeat the Dark Lord?'

'My mother sacrificed herself to save me,' Potter said. 'It created a magic deeper than Voldemort's killing curse, and so when he tried to kill me...'

'When you were older,' Severus clarified. 'How did you... you did defeat the Dark Lord a second time, did you not?' He frowned.

Potter sighed dramatically.

'Well, I defeated him so many times, which story would you like?'

Severus sat back, bemused. Veritaserum usually produced more straight forward answers.

'When you killed him, then.'

'No,' Potter said petulantly, crossing his arms slowly.

Severus sat forward, irritated now.

'How did you kill the Dark Lord?' he enunciated clearly.

'Grindelwald?' Potter asked in confusion. 'That was Dumbledore, you know, and he's only in prison.'

'Potter!' Severus roared. 'You are under the effects of Veritaserum!'

Potter pulled out his wand, and twirled it with a smile.

' _Finite Sancus_.'

Severus deflated.

'Even without a counter-charm, did you really think you could dupe me like that, Severus?'

Severus glared, but said nothing. Potter stopped twirling his wand and sat forward.

'If I wanted you to know these things, don't you think I'd have told you by now?' he asked, his voice hard.

Severus swallowed hard, maintaining his composure.

'You probably should have thought about whether or not I could throw off the effects of Veritaserum before you secretly dosed me,' Potter said, standing up from the desk. 'After seeing everything I can do,' he said quietly, 'did you take me for a bloody idiot!?' he shouted, his wand pointed at Severus's chest.

Standing, Severus drew his own wand.

'You cannot keep this information from us,' Severus hissed. 'It is completely unethical!'

'Oh, you want to talk ethics now?' Potter laughed, hollowly. 'You had no right!'

'I am trying to save this world!'

' _Expelliarmus!_ '

Severus's wand shot out of his hand, into Potter's. The boy burst through the locked classroom door, Severus following him to the corridor, shouting at him to stop.

He had no choice but to run after him. It was late, and dark, and Severus didn't come across a single person as he chased Potter. The boy was smaller and weaker, and Severus had almost caught up to him before he reached an exit. He surged through the door in pursuit, but Potter was gone.

Huffing, he turned around and around. Where could he have possibly gone? Potter had been flagging, and Severus had been right behind him. There was a whistle in the wind, and it felt like he was punched in the shoulder from behind, an intense pain jarring him forwards off his feet. He hit the ground and his breath left him by force. Coughing, he tried to push himself up, but his shoulder collapsed and he spasmed, a shout of pain escaping him. Growling, Severus crawled up to his knees and sat up, catching his breath.

' _Lumos._ '

A narrow beam of light shone into his eyes, and he shielded his eyes with his good hand.

Potter ran out of the darkness, his own wand outstretched, pointed at Severus's heart. Severus's wand was lit in his other hand.

'You don't trust _me_ , I don't trust _you!_ ' he shouted, his voice breaking with emotion. Severus held his arm up in surrender, not wishing to provoke him, his other arm sagging lifelessly against his body.

'We need the information,' Severus said, struggling to keep his voice calm.

'You're a tosser,' Potter spat. 'Dumbledore has most of the information I know already.'

'Keep your voice down,' Severus said through clenched teeth.

Potter's eyes flashed with fury as he lunged towards Severus, his usual poise lost in his rage. His wand found its way to just underneath Severus' jaw, and the tip jabbed the soft flesh.

'What is it you want to know, Severus?' Potter hissed in a low voice. He stroked Severus's face with a few of his fingers from his other hand, in a mockery of intimacy. Severus flinched away from the touch. 'How I _killed_ Voldemort? How many _died_ to protect me? How many I've killed _since?_ '

Potter recoiled from him suddenly, shaking his head.

'You had no right!' he shouted, turning and walking several paces away. 'There are things I have seen and done that would haunt even you.'

Severus swallowed hard, clenching his jaw as pain surged in his shoulder.

'Potter. _Harry-_ '

But Potter was gone.


	12. Flight in the Forest

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay folks, it seems I write much slower in summer. Thankfully, TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) has stuck with me and is encouraging me to keep going!

* * *

The night was cold and snowy, and Harry needed to get away, but he was no idiot. He snuck around the castle and summoned some of his things from the Slytherin dorm – trying to ignore the pang in his heart as he stuffed them into a bag – leftover snacks from Snape, his gloves, a hat, and his warm winter cloak. He was about to head off when he heard a voice.

'Potter, where are you going?'

It was Draco. He was dressed, looking very flustered as he tromped through the snow towards him. He must have still been awake and followed the summoned items. _Bollocks_.

'Go back to bed, Draco,' he said, pushing his way through the snow.

'Where are you going?' he hissed.

'Go back to bed,' Harry instructed again. 'I just need to clear my head.'

'Like hell you do,' Draco spat. 'You can't just leave Hogwarts.'

'Why not,' Harry demanded, suddenly struck with the idea.

'You'll get expelled,' Draco said, as if it were obvious. 'At the very least you'll lose points and we're tied with Gryffindor right now.'

Ah, to be young and to care about such trivial matters.

'Don't make me hex you.'

'I'd like to see you try.'

Harry marched off, rolling his eyes, but Draco trailed after him. They continued to bicker quietly back and forth, and Harry was getting tired of it.

'Sod off, Draco,' he said, moving faster towards the Forest.

Draco stopped at last.

'You can't go in there at night,' he said, finally sounding fearful. 'There's all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I heard.'

'The full moon isn't until tomorrow night,' Harry told him, looking at the sky. 'But since you're so worried, go back to bed.'

Harry trudged on into the Forest, trying to finally make sense of his churning thoughts when hands grabbed him from behind.

'Harry!' Draco yelped as he whirled, wand pointed offensively. 'We should go back to the castle.'

' _You_ go back to the castle,' Harry ordered. Something rustled deeper in the Forest, and a few twigs snapped. Draco froze.

'What was that,' he whispered.

'A sign that you should go back!' Harry snarled, wrenching Draco's hands off his cloak and stomping off. Draco doggedly followed him, and every time Harry told him to go away, he only slowed down and put slightly more space between them.

At last it was time to put his foot down. He had reached the clearing he sought, and Draco could not be present to witness.

'Alright, now you really have to get back to the castle,' Harry said, turning around. But the path behind him was clear. 'Draco?' The forest around him was quiet. Fear collected hard and cold in the pit of his stomach as he moved back down the path. ' _Draco!?_ '

There was a scream off in the distance. Harry ran.

'Draco!'

He kept calling, and Draco kept screaming, directing him slightly off the path and into the thick of the woods. Soon, the light from his wand scanned across a hairy monstrosity, and Draco screamed.

'HARRY!'

The acromantula turned, slow in the cold of winter, Draco struggling in its pincers - still unharmed for the moment.

' _Conjunctivus!_ '

The curse hit the giant spider right in one of its many eyes; it screeched and dropped Draco, clicking its pincers furiously. Another powerful spell pulled Draco behind Harry.

' _Stupefy!_ '

The spider dodged and came for them.

' _Protego!'_

The shield was so strong it knocked the beast back. Draco was clinging to his knees, making sounds of alarm as Harry cast.

' _Stupefy!_ '

The spell was true, and the moving acromantula stiffened before rolling onto its back.

'Finally,' Harry breathed.

'Kill it!' Draco insisted in a panicked voice. 'It's down, kill it now!'

'No, Draco,' Harry said, hoisting Draco to his feet and moving them back to the path. 'It's not its fault it was hungry. You're not even supposed to be here.'

'I'm here for _you!_ ' Draco snapped, grabbing hold of Harry's cloak. 'You're not supposed to be here, either.'

'Go back to the castle!' Harry yelled, pushing Draco away. The boy stumbled and fell into the snow, looking completely terrified, but his eyes were not on Harry. Harry turned, wand illuminating, another hex on his lips.

The light fell on the image of Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

'This is your fault,' Draco proclaimed, as Dumbledore left them in his office, off to fetch their head of house. Harry sighed.

'If you had just gone back, as I told you to, I would be the only one in trouble,' Harry reminded him. He felt deflated now. Any chance to work through his anger at Snape was gone for the time being, and he had to pretend to be a child again. The idea of the Forbidden Forest being dangerous was laughable, really, given all the things he had faced inside it as a student, and the things he had faced since leaving Hogwarts.

Draco chose to fume silently at him, and Dumbledore finally arrived with Snape. Dumbledore still wore a severe expression, and Snape looked like he was barely containing his own anger.

'I am incredibly disappointed in you both,' Dumbledore started with, as he sat down behind his desk. Snape stood next to him stiffly. Harry could see his shoulder was still dislocated, and Harry still had the man's wand.

'You are two of Slytherin's top first year students,' Dumbledore continued. 'The forest is forbidden to all students, and you are no exception. What do you have to say for yourselves?'

'Are you going to tell my father?' Draco asked, his face pinched with worry. Dumbledore gave him a piercing look.

'Since you will only serving detentions as punishment, no.'

Dumbledore looked to Harry next, and a gentle pressure brushed his mind. He looked away and hurriedly cleared his mind.

'I was just upset... after a fight with a friend,' Harry said softly. Draco looked over at him, curious. Harry could feel Snape's eyes on him, but did not lift his head.

'Be that as it may, Mr. Potter, you are expected to stay within your dormitory after curfew, and certainly not be venturing into the forest.

'You will both serve five detentions each,' Dumbledore pronounced, giving Harry an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. 'Mr. Malfoy, you will serve with Professor Snape, and Mr. Potter,' he gave him a critical look over the top of his glasses, 'you will serve yours with Professor McGonagall.'

That seemed to be enough to stir Snape out of his angry misery.

'Sir, Mr. Potter is of my house. I should oversee his detentions.'

'I understand how you feel, Severus, but as their detentions will be delayed due to the impending holiday, it seems prudent to get them out of the way as soon as classes resume. If you are handling Mr. Malfoy's, then Mr. Potter's must fall to someone else.'

With that, they were all dismissed.

* * *

Severus quickly tracked Potter down after he left the headmaster's office. The little prat still had his wand, after all. He was brazenly standing outside Severus' personal quarters.

'Wand,' Severus demanded with an outstretched hand as he approached. Potter withdrew it and handed it over silently. 'What in Merlin's name were you thinking!?'

Potter's eyes narrowed, focusing on his dropped shoulder.

'I-'

'It matters not,' Severus cut in, lowering his wand arm and protectively holding his other arm to his body. 'But it is a poor display of power to lose your temper so easily.'

Potter snorted.

'Speak for yourself.'

The anger seemed to deflate out of Potter like air, and his shoulders sagged.

'I've lost...' He paused to take a deep breath, and Severus recognized the utter heartbreak in those green eyes. '...so many.'

Potter approached him again, eyeing his shoulder critically. He met Severus's eyes and then glanced at his shoulder.

'I can fix it.'

'There are no spells to reset a shoulder,' Severus hissed. Potter raised an eyebrow.

'I know. I meant that I can reset a shoulder.'

Severus considered. Madam Pomfrey, as discrete as she was, would ask questions. She may not tell Dumbledore, but it would get back to him. It always did. It had been difficult enough to hide the injury – and the loss of his wand – from the headmaster that evening already. As much as he was repulsed by the idea of his very attacker aiding him, it was the best solution.

He opened the portrait and motioned Potter inside.

'Do it.'

Potter directed him to sit in one of his kitchen chairs, and took his damaged arm and placed Severus's hand onto his left forearm.

'Try to relax.'

Severus glared at him.

'Sit up straight. Relax your shoulders.'

He was creating a strong pressure on his forearm right before his elbow.

'Relax,' he repeated. Potter's other hand took his shoulder and massaged the muscles next to his neck firmly. Severus groaned. The pain felt good. Potter's hand moved after a few moments and massaged the side of his shoulder, then further down to his bicep.

'Stay straight,' Potter murmured, moving back up to the top of his shoulder and making his way down again. 'Stay relaxed. Shrug your shoulders for me.'

Potter gave a few more squeezes up and down the arm, and as Severus shrugged ever so slowly, his shoulder slid back into place.

He stood, carefully moving his arm back and forth. 'How-'

'I worked with a bloke that was accident prone,' Potter said, folding Severus's arm up across his chest and grabbing his other hand, directing it to hold his injured hand across his chest. 'Did you know that once a shoulder has been dislocated once, it's easier in future?'

Severus stared at him. He hadn't really thought about what adult Harry Potter would have done, after defeating the Dark Lord.

'How long did you work for the Ministry?'

Potter's eyes flicked away.

'Ten years.'

Potter gave Severus a hesitant look.

'I didn't mean to dislocate your shoulder.'

'Perhaps next time you should endeavour to use a more basic spell,' Severus chided. Potter looked confused for a brief moment before shaking it off.

'I wish you trusted me.'

Severus shifted. The pain in his shoulder was increasing now that inflammation was settling in.

'I do.'

Potter laughed hollowly.

'You don't. But perhaps you will.'

'You will give me no information,' Severus hissed, taking a step forward. The intimidation tactic was lost on Potter, and he raised an eyebrow.

'I'm sorry I hurt you,' Potter said, diverting. 'How can I make it up to you,' - he held up a chastising finger – ' _without_ telling you anything?'

'You do not,' Severus said quickly, stepping back immediately. He should not have allowed Potter into his quarters. 'Please return to your dorm. It is late.'

Potter left, looking exhausted and forlorn, and Severus tried to ignore the wriggle of guilt in the back of his mind. He still needed Potter's information.


	13. Betrayed

A/N: Thank you to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her patience with my summer writing pace. And thanks to you for reading and putting up with my summer slowness! As yard work takes a backseat to staying cozily indoors, I should be able to pick up the pace again soon.

* * *

'You can still come with,' Draco told Harry over breakfast the next day. He had insisted, once learning that Harry was staying at the castle over Christmas, that Harry come home with him and partake in the Malfoy family Christmas. He worried Harry would be subject to his detentions if he stayed. Harry had respectfully declined, his head instantly filling with images of thousands of presents under a tree dazzling with ornaments made of real silver, gold, and gems. He could not stand two weeks of not only pretending to be a child, but pretending to enjoy the company of the Malfoys. The train was leaving right after breakfast.

'I just need some time to myself,' Harry said truthfully. Draco looked unconvinced.

Harry walked Draco to the front doors, and they bumped into Hermione, who gave Harry an enthusiastic hug.

'I was hoping to see you before I left!' she said breathlessly. 'Happy Christmas!'

'Happy Christmas, Hermione.'

'Happy Christmas, Draco!'

Draco scowled and turned faintly pink.

'Thanks,' he grumbled in reply.

Once his peers had left, Harry felt lighter. There was less of a need to pretend.

With the castle mostly emptied, Harry needed to find a workspace. There wasn't a lot of time to put his theories to the test. The Room of Requirement made a perfect fit, and supplied him with a complete potions lab to brew. Using his hastily scrawled notes from the night he used the Pensieve with Snape, he was able to get the base brewing using items from his potion kit. He stabilized it with a stasis charm until he got a hold of the few ingredients he still needed. For that, he would need to talk to Snape.

As soon as he could, Harry headed towards the dungeons, hoping to catch Snape in his classroom with an open door. The less time they had to spend together alone, the better. As he came down the stairs into the entrance hall, though, he saw Hagrid carrying an armload of fir branches.

'Hagrid!' Harry said, completely startled. Hagrid jumped slightly, brushing the branches away from his face with one giant hand to see through them.

''Arry!' Hagrid said happily, beaming at him through the needles. ''Aven't seen you in donkey's years!'

'It's been a strange year so far,' Harry admitted, and Hagrid nodded knowingly.

'Weren't expecting Slytherin, I take it?'

'You could say that. What are you doing?'

'Ah, just finishin' up with the decoratin'! Come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat.'

Harry followed Hagrid into the Great Hall, having already seen the initial decorations go up. He instantly felt at home. Holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and twelve Christmas trees stood around the room, sparkling with icicles or glittering with lit candles.

'Over here, Hagrid,' McGonagall called. They brought over the boughs, which McGonagall charmed to hang in decorated arrangements.

'Are yeh busy? Come down for tea!' Hagrid invited him. Harry smiled but shook his head.

'I'm a little busy with some review today, Hagrid. How about we do New Year's Eve?'

Hagrid's eyes lit up.

'Tha' sounds just perfect!'

The brief encounter with Hagrid, while positive, only dampened Harry's spirit. He would not be around to have tea with Hagrid at New Year's, if all went as planned. He had not seen his friend for almost a year in his old life, and now missed him terribly. He decided that seeing Hagrid after he returned would be a top priority.

His steps were slower as he made his way down to Snape's classroom. He would be leaving the world a much different place for young Harry Potter. He was a Slytherin, his best friend was Draco Malfoy, and everyone thought he was a child prodigy. Perhaps his younger self would be better off in the future, where his friends would realize what sort of life he could have growing up in a world without Voldemort.

Snape was still in the classroom, grading papers. He froze when Harry stepped into the doorway, and looked up almost hesitantly.

'Hullo,' Harry said softly. Snape rolled his eyes and motioned him inside.

'You are here for a reason,' Snape prompted. 'What is it?'

'I need to borrow some ingredients.'

'Borrow?' Snape asked, raising an eyebrow as he put his quill aside. 'As in you will return them when you are finished?'

'Fine, I wish to _buy_ some ingredients,' Harry said tersely. 'You are more likely to have what I need than the apothecary in Hogsmeade, and I do not have the time to owl order them.'

'And if I don't have them?' Snape asked smoothly, leaning back and placing his folded hands on his abdomen. He was smirking.

'Then I will have to risk myself and go abroad,' Harry said. Snape frowned and stood up.

'You need your ingredients for the Mutamorph Potion,' he said grumpily, heading to the store room in the back. Harry followed.

'Not everything, no. Only the ingredients it will be hard for me to get. Fluxweed, and the wolf's-foot clubmoss. It's getting very difficult to find.'

Snape rooted around in the cupboard for a moment before withdrawing two jars.

'Ten galleons,' he demanded. Harry tensed. It was a ridiculous sum for two jars of weeds, but he dug into his pockets for the coins anyway. He passed them over, and Snape's eyes narrowed on him as he tucked the money away.

'So you are determined.'

'Yes.'

'When will you go?'

Harry cocked his head and smiled.

'I'm sure you'll figure it out. I will leave myself a letter to come talk to you. To tell you things.'

Snape's frown deepened, looking as though he were figuring out just how to word something.

'Thank you,' Harry said at last, raising the two jars in salute. He left before Snape could say anything further.

* * *

With the additional ingredients, he had the potion on its way to completion. It would be finished by Christmas, and then he would begin his experimentation. The usual Mutamorph process was that one party had to drink the potion with a _bit_ from the other party. It produced a very strange feeling indeed, like your skin suddenly grew too big and you were sliding out of it. After both parties said _yes_ out loud, the transfer would occur. All it took to reverse it was for either party to drink the plain base. Both the switch and the switch back could be done across any distance. It was the perfect tool for witness protection and undercover operations.

In the meantime, he had to wait for it to stew.

Sunday night, Harry tossed and turned, sleep avoiding him. He wandered down to breakfast early on Monday morning, feeling exhausted and impatient. The house tables were still set up, and he sat at the Gryffindor table out of habit. He nursed a very large pot of tea for about an hour by himself in the hall before anyone else made an appearance.

Dumbledore came in, looking quite cheerful in a set of festive green robes. He paused when he saw Harry, and headed over to the Gryffindor table.

'A little disoriented this morning, Harry?' he asked with a smile. Harry jerked, having been daydreaming about his return home. He blinked and realized he'd been caught at the wrong table.

'Oh, I guess,' he mumbled, grabbing his cup and teapot and clambering to his feet. Dumbledore held up his hands and sat down across from him. As Harry sat back down, he tried to remember if he'd ever seen Dumbledore sit at the house tables in his years at Hogwarts.

'I understand the desire to try on different hats,' Dumbledore said, summoning his own cup and pouring himself some tea from the pot. Harry relaxed and wrapped his hands around his teacup.

'Do you ever wonder if one tiny thing could change everything? If one single action could change your life?' Harry asked.

Dumbledore paused, staring into his tea methodically. Harry could see the lines in his face shifting slightly with the force of repressing a reaction.

'Yes,' he said at last. 'I do wonder that.' He looked up at Harry, his blue eyes sad. 'Often.'

Harry felt his heart ache, knowing Dumbledore's past.

There was a sudden, intense pressure on his mind, and he gasped, his hands going up. Dumbledore frowned.

'Are you all right?' he asked with feigned concern. Harry tried to control his breathing as he brushed his fingers across his forehead, as if it would dissipate the attack.

'Y-yes,' he said, looking away from Dumbledore. 'Just a sudden headache.'

Dumbledore smiled indulgently.

'Perhaps too much tea for so early, hm? I have a pain reliever, if you wish. I am prone to headaches, myself.'

He withdrew a small phial from his robes, the crystal clear potion swishing inside. Did he think Harry wouldn't recognize Veritaserum? Its water-like nature was one of its defining features. Harry stood so quickly, he whacked his knees on the table, grunting in surprise. He looked at Dumbledore in alarm, blue eyes finding his.

The attack was startlingly brutal. Images and memories flowed past his mind's eye. His cupboard at Privet Drive. Dudley's birthday. The snake at the zoo. Getting his Hogwarts letter. Being sorted into Gryffindor.

He pushed back, but Dumbledore was both talented and powerful. He easily avoided Harry's defences and kept going. Harry couldn't hold the line anymore; it slipped away from him and his desperation consumed him. He struggled to reshuffle his thoughts as Dumbledore intruded further, but it was like sand flowing through his clutching fingers. His mind opened like a play, and his panic escalated. Memories flowing past slowed to real-time to show Cedric Diggory falling to the ground in slow-motion, obviously dead. Then he was holding a dead Hedwig, and then Dobby sighed his last breath in his arms.

Finally, his adrenaline surged. The magic was powerful, and flung Dumbledore out of his mind. The entire Gryffindor table and benches swept back along the floor, pushed back by the force of his protective ward.

Dumbledore looked windswept and alarmed. He got to his feet quickly, but Harry was already backing away and around.

'Harry,' he said hurriedly, 'please calm yourself-'

But Harry was running out of the hall. His heart was pounding in his ears. All he could see were the doors. He didn't see the tables and benches that were being pushed out of the way as he ran. He didn't notice the doors slam open before he reached them. He didn't even notice Snape coming up the stairs from the dungeon as he leaped up the main staircase, taking the stairs two at a time.

* * *

Severus entered the Great Hall, completely uncertain of what he would find after witnessing Potter fleeing the scene. It was almost entirely empty but for Albus, standing beside the Gryffindor table, looking distressed. Severus went to him, noting the disarray of the tables, and the toppled teapot and cups beside the headmaster.

'What in Merlin's name-' Severus hissed, taking everything in as he reached Albus. He was shaking his head.

'I didn't anticipate that he would know Occlumency, Severus,' Albus said softly. 'He should not have even been aware...'

Severus's stomach dropped. He had just barely reformed some semblance of trust with Harry, and now Albus was plunging into his mind. It was a wonder the man was still standing.

'He cannot be underestimated,' Severus reminded him tersely. 'He is very talented and there are endless resources in the library.' He took out his wand and began righting the tables.

In theory, any student could learn about almost any branch of magic that existed, if they knew the right books to read from the library.

'In truth, I began to wonder, after we spoke,' Albus said wearily, sitting back down at the table.

'You suspect the boy?' Severus asked, frowning. He sat next to Albus and cleaned up the spilled tea. Albus removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

'And I cannot tell by our latest interaction if I am right to, or not.'

Severus felt himself waver on what to tell the headmaster, but he continued without prompting.

'He is preoccupied with death,' Albus said quietly. 'I fear he will go down the same path as Tom Riddle.'

'I have already promised you I would not let this happen,' Severus insisted. He glanced around the hall. It was getting later in the morning and certainly there were Ravenclaw students who would be awake this early. 'But I will promise again, if it will assure you of my commitment. We can trust him.'

Albus finally smiled.

'Thank you, Severus.' He took a deep breath and sighed. 'This is not how I envisioned Harry Potter's first year.'

'Indeed,' Severus muttered.

* * *

Harry was prevented from leaving, since his potion was still brewing, but it didn't stop him from spending the entire day outside of the castle. He ventured to the far side of the lake, using warming charms and a portable fire to keep warm. The spot he chose was where he had cast the Patronus that saved his own life in his third year.

He had to get back to his own time. No matter the changes he had made to his younger self's life, no matter the good he could do here, he had to get home. He had been attacked by the headmaster. Dumbledore clearly didn't trust him. Or perhaps Snape had told him that he was from the future and he was searching for the same information that Snape was. He couldn't risk the information getting out unless he was there to control its dispersal. It was too dangerous.

Before retiring for the night, he retrieved some food from the kitchens. Harry did not want to see Dumbledore, or Snape. He supposed it wouldn't be too difficult for his head of house to track him down, or confront him in the dorm, if he truly wanted to talk. Nor would it be impossible for the headmaster. But it seemed both men were respecting his need for space, and he saw neither hide nor hair of either of them.

He spent Christmas Eve in the Room of Requirement, watching his potion brew, and writing a letter to his younger self. He explained how he had been sorted into Slytherin and not Gryffindor, and that this didn't make him evil. Explaining his friendship with Draco was more difficult, but he managed. He basically wrote down everything that had happened so far that year, and also apologized for putting him through all this.

Then he wrote to Snape. He told him everything: who would die, how Voldemort would rise again, what each Horcrux was and where he could find it, as well as the truth regarding the Deathly Hallows. He told him how to access the Chamber of Secrets. He explained about Peter Pettigrew, and what the entire Prophecy said. He had told himself to deliver the letter to Snape on New Year's Day, and asked Snape to answer any of his questions. It was all he could do.

Harry went to bed that night feeling nervous, as if he had to catch an early morning Portkey and was worried about sleeping in. It was going to be Christmas, and he was going to be going home. It was the perfect gift to himself.


	14. Happy Christmas

A/N: Thank you to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her hard work and patience with my super major terrible writer's block. She's the best! As are you, faithful and patient reader.

* * *

Waking early on Christmas morning, the first thing Harry noticed was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed. His heart ached as he lifted the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was _To Harry, from Hagrid_. He shook it lightly and figured, based on the sound, Hagrid had still gifted him this time around with a handmade flute. There was nothing from the Dursleys, as he had not sent them any kind of Christmas missive, so they had not bothered with a gift. His eyes prickled when he realized there was no lumpy package from Mrs Weasley this year. There was a small package which seemed to be from Hermione, and two other packages that he could not recall.

There was no cloak.

He searched the pile twice. The thin, light package was nowhere to be found. Dumbledore had not trusted him with it.

Dumbledore had years to bequeath the cloak to young Harry before it really counted, but it still stung. There was a rift of distrust between them now, and he had no idea if or when young Harry would be able to fix it. He blinked away tears at the thought.

He left the packages wrapped at the foot of his bed. He would let his younger self unwrap and appreciate them. He made a quick detour to the kitchens for a bite to eat, and then headed up to the Room of Requirement. The room was as it usually was: cupboard, workbench, tools; but there was a wreath of holly on the back of the door, and a sprig of mistletoe hung over the door to the cupboard.

The potion was almost ready when he approached, and he eagerly prepared. There was his letter to himself, and then the sealed letter for Snape. He had clumsily scrawled a map of how to get out of the Room of Requirement and go all the way to Snape's quarters in the dungeons. He conjured a comfortable armchair to take his dose in, so that if his younger self fainted, he would not fall over. Another spell produced a small table, which he placed right in front of the armchair, and displayed both letters on. He checked on his brew, and it had finally turned colour. It was ready.

He snuffed out the flames and measured out a dose. The reversal process required a half cup to be chugged down, and it was just as thick and nasty as Polyjuice. Bracing himself, he swallowed it down, stabilized the rest of the potion, and sat down in the armchair to wait.

The feeling started slow, in the tips of his fingers and toes. It ran under his skin, spreading all over his body until it felt like a thin air bubble was pushing its way between the layer of his skin over his scalp. He shifted, and it felt like he moved independently of his skin. It was a feeling that consistently made him shudder. He took a look around, more at peace than he had felt in quite some time, despite the creepy feeling in his skin. Smiling to himself, Harry nodded.

'Yes.'

He sat expectantly for a moment with his eyes closed. The feeling of his body didn't change, though, so he opened his eyes and saw the Room of Requirement. He checked his hands; no scars, no tattoos. He was still here.

He got out of the chair and went to the cauldron of potion. Perhaps it required a larger dose? Ignoring the uneasy feeling in his stomach, he scooped out another carefully measured dose and gulped it down. The loose feeling of his skin got slightly more nauseating, and he sat once more into the chair. Taking a deep breath, Harry spoke again.

'Yes.'

He closed his eyes and put his head back on the chair. He suddenly grew very dizzy and he felt as though he was spinning. He gripped the arms of the chair tightly and pulled his head back up. The spinning feeling faded, and he opened his eyes to look around.

He was still in the Room of Requirement.

' _No_ ,' he ground out, getting up and going to the work bench once more. It should work. It should work perfectly. Why wasn't it working?

Ignoring the dose cup, Harry scooped the remaining potion up and poured it into his mouth. It was more than a full third dose, but he still scraped the sides of the cauldron to get it all. Walking back to the chair, he felt like his skin was a completely separate entity now, sloshing against him as he walked. It squished out from beneath him as he sat down. He tried once more.

'Yes.'

He closed his eyes and put his head back again. The sick feeling in his stomach was getting worse. The room spun again, and he clung to the chair tighter, holding on for dear life as he shifted within his skin at the motion. Was he actually moving, or was he just that dizzy? When the dizziness subsided, he opened his eyes.

The Room.

His rage erupted from him in a scream as he launched himself out of the chair. He ran at the workbench, seizing the empty cauldron and throwing it as hard as he could with another howl of frustration. It bounced – spraying droplets of potion around the room as it ricocheted – and came back at Harry with surprising force. It hit him in stomach, doubling him over. As soon as he bent, his stomach revolted, and the former contents of the cauldron came out of his mouth.

He coughed, struggling to catch his breath but not inhale any of his vomit. Assured his mouth was clear, and remaining very still, he took small and careful breaths. Harry vanished the sick on the floor. Suppressing his rage overwhelmed him, and tears fell out of his eyes to the stone floor. Clutching his stomach, he slowly got down on his knees. It hadn't worked. He was still here. And now he had an indeterminate amount of potion in his system and was living inside a pool of his own skin. Summoning a mirror, he checked out his reflection. The skin at his eyes, nose, and mouth was drooping. He pushed it with his fingers and found it felt puffy and foreign under his fingertips. Running his hand over his stomach, it felt like he was wearing a wrinkled shirt underneath his robes, with a thick layer of jelly underneath. He wiggled his toes. It felt like there was water in his trainers. The usual feeling produced by the potion usually faded within twelve hours if the potion was not activated, but he had never seen a reaction like this before. He suddenly felt exhausted, and it was only eight in the morning. Getting up, he decided to head back to his dorm.

* * *

Severus had thought he was early enough, but the Slytherin common room was empty. He went to Potter's room. The beds were all made – obviously by house elves – and a small pile of gifts remained untouched at the foot of Potter's bed. He was already gone.

He felt a pang in his stomach. There was no guarantee that Potter would accomplish his goal and make it back to his own life. Severus was almost convinced it was impossible. But if asked if someone could swap bodies with themselves across time and space, he would have considered _that_ impossible at one time, too.

Slowly, he made his way up to breakfast. Albus had arranged for everyone to sit at a single table, and the remaining students looked happy and festive. The space left for Potter was empty, and Albus gave Severus a sharp look which he steadfastly ignored. He finished his eggs in silence, and excused himself early. Pomona protested, but he had to search for Potter. He gave Albus a meaningful look, and the headmaster nodded. Though likely thinking of much different reasons, Albus could see that Potter needed to be checked on.

Severus couldn't help congratulating himself on his impeccable timing as he exited the Great Hall, for there was Potter, slowly descending the stairs.

'Potter,' he acknowledged. 'Happy Christmas.'

Potter gave him an incredulous look.

'Happy Christmas?' he said softly. 'How can you say that to me?'

'Because it is Christmas, and it is the traditional Christmas greeting,' Severus said. He still could not tell if this was Potter the Older or Potter the Younger.

'It didn't work,' Potter spat bitterly. 'I'm still stuck in this nightmare.'

'Ah.' So it was Potter the Older. As he drew closer, Severus could see Potter's face was sagging, and his skin rippled with every step, as though he were made entirely of water under his skin.

'I'll try again,' Potter said quietly. 'I kept some of the base. I'll try again.' He looked pale, too.

'What did you do?' Severus asked severely. Potter looked up at him strangely. 'You are having an adverse reaction.'

'I'm fine,' Potter growled, continuing his slow pace towards the dungeons.

'You look terrible.'

'So do you,' Potter snarled over his shoulder. Severus rounded him and took him by the shoulders. His hands instantly slid over his shoulders, loose skin bunching up underneath the robes in his hands. He shuddered and Potter cried out in alarm, trying to move away, but Severus had him by an improvised scruff of skin.

'Resist, and I will drag you to my quarters by the skin I hold,' he hissed. Potter looked alarmed, but nodded. Severus stepped away and quickly grew impatient with the pace Potter was keeping. He was even slower than his laziest peers!

'Can you not-'

'No,' Potter said emphatically. 'I really can't.'

Severus stopped, then, and assessed the situation. A misplaced spell could have disastrous consequences.

'I will carry you.'

'Wha-?'

But he was lifting the slight figure under the knees, propping up his shoulders with his other arm, making adjustments for Potter's loose skin. Potter sighed as if relaxed, leaning his head against Severus's shoulder, and he regretted the gesture immediately. He quickened his pace.

'I have gone over the method several times,' Severus said, trying to distract himself from thoughts of Harper, 'and I believe I can help you.'

He got them to his quarters quickly, and laid Potter on the sofa, his skin weighed down with gravity and sliding tight over his features.

Wrinkling his nose in disgust at the scene, Severus went into his bathroom and began filling the tub with warm water. As the water ran, he went to the other door off his quarters: his personal potions lab. A quick run through his stores and he had what he wanted.

'Come, Potter,' he called as he went back into the bathroom. He prepared a set of towels, and checked the water temperature. Potter shuffled into the room slowly, his skin drooping worse than ever.

Severus popped the top on the small phial he had, and the smell of petrol filled the steamy room.

'Ugh!' Potter said, reflexively covering his nose. 'You can't be serious!'

'I am,' Severus said, pouring the bubotuber pus into the bath. It turned the water slightly milky, and the smell mellowed immediately. 'It should tighten up your skin with little to no side effects.'

Potter looked unconvinced.

Severus stepped around him carefully and took hold of the door.

'Soaking naked would be preferable,' he said, not looking at Potter. 'But a minimum of twenty minutes is required, clothed or not.'

He shut the door behind him and headed for the kitchen. Twenty-seven minutes – and one pot full of tea laced with brandy – later, Potter made his way into the kitchen, looking decidedly pink and relatively normal.

'It feels like it should, now,' he said. 'Thank you.'

Severus fixed a fresh pot of tea – minus the brandy – and summoned a tray of sandwiches from the kitchen.

'You were not at breakfast. Eat.'

Potter put a single sandwich on his plate and waited for the tea to brew.

'What caused the reaction?' Severus asked as he prepped their mugs. Potter sighed.

'It didn't work.'

Severus raised an eyebrow and gave him a look. There was clearly more to it than that. Potter rolled his eyes.

'I tried more than one dose, to be certain.'

Steeling himself as he poured the tea, Severus fought to keep his voice level.

'Exactly how many doses did you take?'

'Three?'

The teapot almost slipped from his hands.

'Idiot!' Severus hissed, gently putting down the teapot. 'Three doses of _any_ potion could have serious side effects or create long-term damage!'

'Well, you weren't there!'

'So this is my fault, is it?'

'That's not what I said!' Potter said hotly, standing from the table and beginning to pace. 'I'm not a potions master! I was acting how I thought best!'

'No, you weren't acting on _thought_ at all,' Severus countered. 'You were acting on impulse, and rash _feeling_.'

'And so what!?' Potter yelled. 'I am _trying_ to get back to my _life!_ ' He paced aggressively. 'You said it was what, in shambles? So what! It started falling apart in my _first year_ , so how is reliving it going to help?'

'Sit down,' Severus instructed.

'No!'

'Sit! Now!'

Potter stopped pacing and made a miserably petulant face before sinking into his chair.

'Take a break,' he told him. 'Reset. Try again in a week.'

Potter shook his head vehemently.

'I can't. If I go back, it has to be over the holiday. Think of Young Harry.'

Severus couldn't argue with that. Having as much time as possible to acclimatize the actual Harry Potter would be the best. Potter made for the door, ignoring the poured tea and his untouched sandwich.

'I wish you all the best, then,' Severus said as Potter opened the door, but he selfishly still hoped that he would never get home.

* * *

Harry skipped dinner, instead lying in bed and ignoring his presents. He had made three cauldrons of base potion, so with two cauldrons left and enough time, he had to try again. He would try making the potion to the point that the accident had happened, before the addition of lilac and moss.

There was no point to brewing further until the next day, when the effects of his first dose wore off completely. Thanks to Snape, he wasn't walking around in a skin bag anymore. But he felt restless. It was closing in on curfew when he finally got out of bed. Wrapping himself in his usual disguise spells, he went wandering.

It was when he happened across an almost-empty classroom that he wondered how much of his life he actually had any power over changing. The Mirror of Erised shone in the dim light as he pushed the door open, and he stopped just short of seeing his reflection. At age eleven, it had shown him his parents. _I show not your face but your heart's desire_. He had no idea what it would show him now.

Moving slowly towards the mirror, Harry was aware of the fact that it would show him a reflection despite him being more or less invisible. His mouth felt dry, and his stomach churned unpleasantly. He moved at it from the side, sidling into view. He gasped.

It was him, and a room full of people behind him. But it was his older self; tall and confident. The people around him weren't the Potters, but his beloved dead.

Sirius stood on his one side, grinning like mad, an arm slung over his shoulder. Remus stood on Sirius's other side, looking equally – if more reservedly – glad. Hedwig was perched on his shoulder, flapping gently to maintain her balance. Dobby clung enthusiastically to his leg. Fred was laughing silently with Cedric Diggory. Dumbledore peeked from behind them. Even Snape was there, scowling just behind Dumbledore.

And right beside Harry was Matthew Samson. His shaggy blonde hair was swept back, his hazel eyes dancing. His ruddy face beamed at Harry from behind his carefully groomed beard, and his fingers drummed his biceps as they always did when he crossed his arms.

'No,' Harry sobbed. He sank to his knees in front of the mirror, running his hand up and down his left arm, but there were no scars. They were all still alive. He hadn't yet faced the heartbreak contained within this reflection.

He could still save them, here. He could really get to know Sirius and Remus this time. He could see Cedric graduate. He could watch Fred raise his own family alongside George. He could attend both Dumbledore and Snape's retirement parties. He could let Matthew break his heart all over again, and watch him break others'.

But he was leaving. He was going back to a world where every single one of them was dead.

Harry cried until he had nothing left, and still they smiled at him. They surrounded him, ruffling his hair, telling his reflection silent jokes that he laughed at, hugging him. Groaning as he pushed himself off the cold stone floor, Harry turned to leave. It was no good to waste hours in front of the mirror. He went back to bed feeling rather empty.

* * *

By the next morning, the shifty feeling of his skin had faded. The Room of Requirement was just as he left it; cauldron under stasis spells, chair, table, letters. The cauldron from Christmas Day lay still on its side, on the floor. It only took an hour to get the Mutamorph base to where it had been when it had exploded. It still required other ingredients to be completed Mutamorph Potion like he had consumed yesterday. He measured out the proper dose, and started to drink.

He couldn't help his gag reflex, and before he knew it, the potion was sprayed across the floor. The taste was so vile, he continued to gag until he managed to choke out a water spell and direct the flow into his own mouth.

He was soaking wet, feeling rather ill, and the floor was covered in water, potion, and his own vomit. Again. It was so ridiculous, he couldn't even find the energy to get upset. Why did this always end with him being sick all over the floor? Something had gone terribly wrong, and he wished he knew what. Snape had only offered him best wishes; no actual help whatsoever. Given Snape's insistence on him divulging information, as well as his pessimism about Harry's ability to get back to his own time, he figured Snape didn't expect – or want – him to leave. Harry was a valuable tool against Voldemort, and Snape wasn't about to help him disappear.

Sighing, Harry sat in his chair. Perhaps he should brew it to completion, as if performing a new switch. A look in his kit determined that he had small amounts still of both Ageing Potion and Shrinking Solution, so he got to work.

He had at least one dose each of Ageing Potion and Shrinking Solution. It was a long shot. He had discovered previously that when he took Ageing Potion, he somehow aged into his older body. It had been quite disconcerting the first time it had happened, as he had not been expecting his tattoo, nor his familiar scars. So he completed the brew on the Mutamorph Potion, and now all it needed was the bit of the person he was switching with.

Adjusting his robes, he took seventeen drops of Ageing Potion. He grew taller and thicker, and his robes felt tight. But he only needed to be twenty-eight for a few minutes. He conjured a piece of parchment and, using one of the knives, scraped a dry part of his hand until he had a small pile of skin dust. Smiling to himself at his ingenuity, Harry grabbed a phial of Shrinking Solution and gave himself seventeen drops of that, slowly ageing backwards to his eleven-year-old self. It wouldn't do to get the bodies mixed up.

Yet again, he measured himself a dose. This time, he sprinkled the skin dust across the top. The potion changed to a rather dark blue colour that Harry had never seen before. He felt suitably nervous about it, but what could be helped? He had to try.

His stomach turned the moment he started to drink it. Even if it didn't taste as vile as it did earlier, it was still the same texture and his stomach remembered. He kept it down, though, and made it to his chair before the familiar feeling in his skin settled in. His stomach now fluttered with nervousness instead of illness, and he took a deep breath before uttering his assent.

'Yes.'


	15. Get Busy Living

A/N: Thank you to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her beta-reading, as well as this awesome chapter title!

* * *

The knocking on his chamber door was polite, but firm.

 _Albus_ , he thought. And, given the time, it was undoubtedly concerning a student. Thankfully, when he wrenched the door open, Albus was alone. Severus sighed.

'I wish only to inform you that Mr Potter may be in need of a guiding hand tonight,' he said pointedly, with a look over top of his glasses. 'I found him at the Mirror of Erised, looking quite distressed.'

Severus frowned, and gestured Albus into his quarters. The headmaster smiled and made his way to the table as Severus fumbled for the kettle in his kitchen.

'So he found the Mirror,' Severus prompted, tossing two teabags into a teapot. 'Tea?'

Albus nodded, then shook his head.

'I believe I require something stronger, Severus, if you will. I found him there last night as well.'

Severus felt a hard, icy knot form in his stomach. How much did the headmaster know? He doubted Albus would attempt another round of Legilimency. But how much had Potter revealed, thinking he was alone? He reached for the bottle of Odgen's Old he had received from Minerva for Christmas.

'And?' Severus asked, impatiently, pouring two fingers of the firewhisky into two tumblers. He passed one to Albus.

Albus sighed, swirling the liquid in the glass.

'I know not what it was that he saw.' He took a sip of his drink. 'I believe it to be upsetting in nature, though.'

Severus looked away, drinking his own glass in one large, fiery gulp. He knew all too well how being shown your heart's greatest desire could be upsetting. Albus finished his own drink and stood from the table.

'You should find Mr Potter and ensure that he is... all right,' Albus said, slightly awkwardly, as though uncomfortable that Severus was required to act as intercessor.

Severus walked Albus to the door and thanked him for the suggestion. After the headmaster left, Severus felt a flood of different emotions. Potter hadn't made it back. Today was his second attempt. If he had been successful, a younger, confused Harry Potter would have found him earlier today, and he would have been forced to explain the whole unfortunate mix-up. But he hadn't, and with Albus reporting a distressed Potter moping in front of the Mirror of Erised... yes, it had to be that Potter was unable to return to his previous life. He was still stuck. Reading between the lines, he could see that Dumbledore didn't know exactly where Potter had escaped to, only that he wasn't in his dorm – perhaps not even in the castle.

Grabbing his cloak, he knew just where to start his search.

* * *

He was not surprised when he found Potter, disguised as Harper, at the Harpy. He was nursing a tumbler of something strong, sitting alone and looking utterly miserable. It was a scene Severus usually avoided like dragonpox. Severus's first impulse was to drag the man outside, sober him up and immediately take him back to the school. Instead, he sat in a booth by himself on the far side of the pub, and nursed a single drink for the evening. He could see the man needed to get pissed. So he watched Potter get drunker and drunker. He grew belligerent towards the barkeep, and appeared to cry while he consumed his sixth drink. But after drink number eight, patrons began to gather at the bar next to him and his mood swung back up.

By midnight he was quite intoxicated, and appeared to be getting distinctly forward with a man – of a seemingly similar age – that was sitting next to him. Severus tossed back the last of his drink and headed over, a prickle of jealously running down his spine, his cheeks flushing with both attraction and shame. He slid into the seat on the other side of Potter.

'Sal!' Potter slurred warmly, leaning towards him, the other man's flirtations instantly forgotten. But then he blanched behind the ruddiness of the drink, clearly remembering the violence of their last encounter. He lurched back, away from Severus. 'Why are you... here?'

Severus reached out and gripped the front of Potter's robes, steadying him, his knuckles knocking against the leather body armour he always wore in his Harper disguise. His cock twitched against his will.

'I wanted to see you,' he said, pulling Potter closer. Potter relaxed, smirking, loosening Severus's hold and staring – transfixed – at his long fingers for a moment.

'It was just a blowjob,' he said with false modesty, grinning. Then, catching himself, he pulled away again.

'An _amazing_ blowjob,' Severus purred in a low voice, tightening his grip on Potter's robes again, reeling him in until their foreheads touched. Potter laughed softly, closing his eyes and revelling in their touch. His breath smelled of whisky. 'I still think about it,' Severus murmured. 'Dream about it.'

Suddenly, Potter froze. Then he jerked back. His glamoured eyes were fearful.

'Snape,' he breathed.

Severus froze, too. He had been operating under the assumption that Potter had no idea who Sal was, and assumed he was certainly too drunk to figure it out tonight.

'Potter,' he growled in return. Potter's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath.

'I am too drunk for this shit,' Potter whispered, motioning to the barkeep. Severus nodded in agreement, sneering.

'You are.'

Potter's disguised face crumpled in drunken grief, his hands tangling into his sandy hair as he slumped forward dejectedly onto the bar.

'Gawddammit,' he mumbled. 'I can't believe...'

Potter pushed himself up, looking at Severus for a drawn moment with incredulous disgust.

'Gawddammit,' he drawled again, slumping back down onto the bar. 'How'd I _miss_ it?'

'That's enough, Potter,' Severus said under his breath, pushing feelings of both disappointment and guilt down. 'You need to get back to the school.'

'Why?' Potter asked, irritated, pushing up onto his elbows. ' _I_... am an _adult_.'

'In the body of a child,' Severus hissed. 'A child that needs to _at least_ give the appearance of being in school.'

Potter's face crumpled again.

'I couldn't do it,' he said plaintively. 'I couldn't get back.'

'I know,' Severus said, as sympathetically as he could manage.

'I just want to go hoooome,' Potter whinged, pushing his empty tumbler towards the barkeep. Severus subtly shook his head.

'Oi, yer cut off fer tonight,' the barkeep told Potter firmly, swiping the tumbler away. Potter looked even more dejected.

'Why,' he moaned, letting his head fall forward onto the bar with a loud smack. Severus winced, despite himself. He stood up and went behind Potter, pulling him off the stool, taking on the full weight of the twenty-eight year old drunk man.

'Potter, walk. Walk!' he hissed, as Potter's legs flailed like jelly beneath him. Eventually, they managed to stumble out into the street.

'I can't stay,' Potter mumbled into his shoulder. 'I'll mess ev-rything up.'

Severus was about to reply when he felt a hand sneak into his robes at chest-level.

'Potter, what-'

He was cut off when lips sealed over his. Potter was kissing him – sloppily, and with too much wetness – as his hand snaked under Severus's clothes. Even with the sour taste of liquor and the messiness of the kiss, Severus had to force himself to resist kissing back. His hands found Potter's shoulders and gripped him firmly, pushing him back.

'Potter!' he said loudly. 'What are you doing?'

Potter gave him a woozy look, but beamed. He held up his hand, a small potion phial gripped in triumph.

'You like it better sober,' he smirked.

Severus snatched the phial away. It was indeed Sobering Potion, and the fact that he was either lucky enough to have chosen the right one from his pocket, or powerful enough to tell what it was without being able to see it – especially while drunk – was infuriating.

'I don't like it at _all_ with you,' Severus snapped. Potter looked oddly hurt.

'But you said it was _amazing_ ,' he slurred softly.

'I was trying to distract you,' Severus lied easily. 'I need to get you back to the school.'

'But I should be sober for that, too,' Potter said earnestly. 'Two birds, and all that.'

Severus ignored the comment.

'You should wait until after we are in the castle to release your disguise.'

Potter raised an eyebrow.

'I was thinking of waiting until after we have sex, to be honest.'

Severus froze.

'Potter, I-'

'Look, you can stay in your disguise, too, if that would make you feel better,' Potter said reasonably. He stepped closer to Severus. 'It's up to-'

'Itisnot-!' Severus said quickly. He swallowed hard and put some distance between them. 'It is not appropriate, Mr Potter.'

'We're both adults,' Potter said, his voice still aggravatingly reasonable, even if he _was_ drunk.

'Be that as it may,' Severus said hurriedly, 'you are my student. It is completely inexplicable, were we to be discovered.'

Potter grinned.

'I see that none of your excuses are that you aren't attracted to me,' he observed.

Severus felt his cheeks flush in the darkness. Growling under his breath, he put the potion into Potter's hand and stepped out of reach. Potter swigged it back, coughing immediately, gasping and wheezing wetly. He finished in a few minutes, letting out a low sigh.

'This stuff is bullshit,' Potter groused, tossing the phial down into the alley, the tinkle of breaking glass echoing down the street. Severus gave him a look.

'I reuse those.'

'It deserved to die,' Potter said bitterly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He slouched towards Severus. 'Shall we go?'

'Yes.'

Severus let out a sigh of relief that Potter had decided not to acknowledge his drunken come-ons after sobering up. Yet part of him was disappointed, since his resolve was indeed crumbling and only a small amount further prodding would have been required for him to push Potter against an alley wall and have him coming within minutes. He flushed guiltily at the thought.

* * *

Harry was glad he didn't feel hungover the next morning. It was bad enough, remembering all the things he had said to that stranger, but to Snape! He had to get home, if only to avoid ever looking Snape in the face again.

He looked regretfully at the pile of untouched parcels at the foot of his bed. Young Harry would enjoy opening them so much. He couldn't deprive him of that.

Grabbing a couple of muffins from the kitchens, Harry headed to the Room of Requirement with purpose. It was his last chance. There wouldn't be time to make another attempt until Easter holidays in April. Regardless, this was also his last feasible idea. The brainstorming with Snape had only yielded three potential methods. He tried initiating a switch back and it hadn't worked. He tried initiating a new switch. That hadn't worked, either. The only thing left was to try the exact same accident, but in reverse. The accident that sent him back had the incomplete base, plus his younger self's skin, as well as dried flakes of Shrinking Solution. Would it work? Even Snape had been doubtful.

It took little time to prep the remaining potion base. His palms were clammy with sweat, and his hand smeared the drying ink on a new set of letters to his younger self and Snape. The ink was dark blue on his fingers, staining the cuticles of his fore and middle fingers. He thought of Snape's potion-stained fingers, and how it had been the final clue to Sal's real identity that had connected all the dots the night before.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he sprinkled the skin into the potion (as if falling out of the spine of a book), followed swiftly by a few flakes of dried Ageing Potion. The potion glowed an ethereal blue.

'Yes!' Harry hissed victoriously, leaning towards it. A plume of bright white smoke exploded into his face, and he revelled in the choking, chalky substance as he began coughing. He whirled, swiping at his coated face, his eyes watering. He let his eyes stream as he wheezed, squeezing them shut and wiping the thick potion residue out of his eyes. He opened his eyes and was still in the Room of Requirement. Coughing, he squeezed his eyes shut again and rubbed them. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again.

It was still the Room of Requirement.

'No,' he said, his voice raspy, as he blinked slowly again. But still, he remained in the Room of Requirement. 'No!'

He curled in on himself, screaming his rage, fists clenched and pressed into the cold stone beneath him. Despite his anger, he remained. He screamed until his voice was raw. Scrambling to his feet, he seized the still-smoking cauldron and threw it with all his strength at the wall. It exploded in a wet mess; the fragile, hot cauldron shattering. Hot potion spattered his skin. He swept the other items off the workbench with a roar of rage, sending everything flying across the room. His anger was complete, his distress physical and all-consuming. He flipped the table, and shattered it with a spell before it even hit the floor. His letters burned up with another spell, and the table they rested on exploded, like the table.

Wood splinters stuck into his face and hands, but he ignored them as he set the armchair on fire. He bellowed again, collapsing to his knees and punching the floor with his fists. His voice tapered off into a wail as he sagged into the floor, his pain at last slowly replacing his rage. A wail of anguish escaped him, broken only by his sobs. Adrenaline surge over, a tremor began in his body and he was suddenly aware of his sweat soaking his robes, and an ache that was nothing less than bone-deep. Uncurling slowly, he looked around the room through still-watering eyes. He remembered all the things that had happened in the Room of Requirement; things that hadn't happened yet, here. Perhaps they never would.

So he was stuck. This was the last idea. The best idea. Though he had raged over his previous failures, he had consoled himself with the notion that _this_ would definitely be his ticket home. If nothing else, this. Yet it had failed him. Harry carefully shifted to the side and pulled his legs around so he wasn't crouching on his knees anymore – while thanking the youthful body that allowed him to do so without creaking.

He was stuck. Voldemort still had yet to rise to power again. The Deathly Hallows were still divided and lost. And he, Harry, was still a horcrux. He would still have to die. But his people, his beloved dead... they were still alive.

His face was still covered in potion, and his hands – he was fairly certain – were both broken and beginning to swell. Harry had no doubt he looked a wreck. Getting up without using his hands was difficult and painful, but he made his way to the door and a muttered spell opened it. He stumbled out into the corridor, certain this was going to be a more painful day than he had hoped.

* * *

Severus was helping himself to a glass of brandy when there was a dull knock on his door. He had just come from drinks with Minerva, Pomona, Filius, and Albus. The festive cheer never seemed to stop, and goodness knows he needed it to forget the night before. Hesitantly, he pulled open the door. Potter stood on the other side. His face would have been comical, covered in thick, white potion, had it not been for the expression of intense grief.

'It's me,' he croaked. 'It didn't work.'

Severus stepped aside and Potter stumbled into his kitchen, looking utterly exhausted. Severus took him by the arm and directed him to a kitchen chair. Potter offered no resistance.

'It should have worked,' he said weakly as Severus summoned a face cloth and some cleanser from his bathroom. He began wiping the potion from Potter's face with the dampened cloth. It did not phase the boy – the man – at all, barely appearing to register the ministrations.

'In theory,' Severus reminded him, picking at wood splinters on his face. 'But perhaps it is simply not possible to reverse what was done.'

'That's what the Sorting Hat said,' Potter said, his voice cracking. 'I can't do this!'

Severus finished wiping off his face and leaned back, giving him a critical look.

'Of all the things you have survived, _this_ is your toughest challenge?'

Potter wiped tears from his eyes with his arm, and Severus ignored them.

'It's not,' he admitted. 'I just wanted a rest.' He sighed, looking up at the ceiling, and tears spilled onto his cheeks. 'I just wanted a rest,' he repeated.

Severus got up then, and went into the kitchen to prepare some tea.

'I've done it all,' Potter said, tiredly. 'I was ready to retire.'

'I thought you were on medical leave.'

Potter gave a hollow laugh.

'And what would it take to send me on medical leave again?' He shook his head bitterly. 'They would have forced me to retire, eventually. Maybe pushed me into some... false promotion. Made me a figurehead that does nothing but attend press conferences and tribute feasts and memorial balls.'

He sniffed loudly as Severus came around with the squat brown teapot in one hand, and two mugs in the other. Severus refused to be swayed by the emotional display.

'You have all the answers, Potter. The Dark Lord does not stand a chance. Take heart in that.'

Potter stared impassively into his cup, held between swollen hands, as Severus poured him some tea.

'I'll do it,' he said quietly at last, 'for you.'

There was no heat of feeling sitting with Potter the boy. The figure of the child seated next to him produced only the purest sentimentality. His throat went dry and he took a scalding gulp of tea to find his voice.

'What?'

'I'll do it for you.'

The details were unnecessary, and normally he would have bristled at the thought that he, Severus Snape, would require a champion. But the unspoken truth was clear as a bell. Somehow, he knew that he would die in Potter's future. The sudden stinging of his eyes startled Severus more than Potter's words. He blinked several times.

Potter's words were not only a pledge of support. They were a promise of protection.


	16. Alone

**A/N:** I had a pretty bad block on this chapter, but got through it eventually. Thanks to TheHelpfulNeighborLady for her work as my beta-reader, soundboard, and cheerteam. Without her, we might still be at chapter 3. The MA-rated version of this chapter is available on AO3 under the same pen name and title.

* * *

Snape had insisted on healing his hands after discovering how damaged they were. Harry supposed he was better off, considering how the conversation with Madam Pomfrey would've gone. Their hands touching had filled him with confusing feelings. He had given Snape – Professor Snape – a blow job. Had gladly gone back for more. This was the same man that had betrayed his trust and wished to use him as a tool against Voldemort. To say Harry was confused was putting it mildly.

He had left the dungeons. It was too early to go back to bed, and his mind was wandering. He had gone to see the Mirror the night before. The image was the same: his beloved dead lovingly surrounding him. Knowing the mirror would be moved soon, Harry wanted to see them one more time. To be honest, he actually wanted to see himself as he would potentially never be again.

Looking around the empty corridor, he ducked into the classroom and spelled himself invisible. It was the middle of the afternoon, so surely Dumbledore would not be spying this time. Rather hesitantly he stepped in front of the mirror. It was his old self again – twenty-eight, tall, and confident. But it was not his beloved dead at his side any longer.

'Ron,' Harry breathed, tears filling his eyes instantly. 'Hermione...'

He reached for the mirror, his old friends hugging into him. His old friends he would never see again.

'Why?' Harry demanded of the mirror suddenly, gripping the sides of it. 'Why now!?' His hands, still tender from their healing, slipped off the mirror and he pitched forward, watching his tears suddenly appear on the floor beneath him. He could not contain the shuddering sobs of anguish. His family was gone, never to be seen again. There was no family here for him, nor any friends. He was utterly alone.

'It is not unusual to be so tormented by the images you see,' a calm voice echoed in the room. Harry turned. Dumbledore was sitting on one of the desks by the wall. Feeling self conscious, Harry cancelled his spell and scrambled to his feet, swiping errant tears from his face like a schoolboy.

'I – I didn't see you, sir.'

'Strange, how short-sighted being invisible can make you,' said Dumbledore, smiling gently, though his eyes held a hint of steel. 'Remarkable work with the Disillusionment Charm, Harry. It is quite challenging.' Dumbledore approached cautiously, as if Harry were a skittish horse he were attempting to calm.

'So,' he said, 'you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.'

Harry swallowed hard, and turned to look up at the top of the mirror again.

' _I show not your face but your heart's desire_ ,' Harry read.

Dumbledore nodded.

'Very good,' he praised. 'I expect you realise why it is so dangerous.'

Dumbledore was treating him delicately, but with more respect than he had when he had plunged perilously into his mind. Harry couldn't decide whether it was an improvement or not.

'I could waste away in front of it,' Harry said thickly, running his fingers down the side of the mirror reverently. 'Just to see them again.'

'Them?' Dumbledore's voice was soft.

Harry dropped his hand quickly. He had forgotten that not even Dumbledore could see what he saw in the mirror.

'My parents,' Harry lied, creating strong mental shields just in case. Dumbledore smiled sadly.

'The mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth, Harry.' He looked away, past Harry, at the mirror. 'It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that.'

Dumbledore's eyes refocused on Harry and he smiled, a little too brightly.

'The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow. I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever _do_ run across it, you will be prepared.'

Harry forced a smile.

'Of course.'

Dumbledore followed him out of the classroom, and they parted ways in the corridor.

* * *

That night found him, yet again, at the tavern. He had Aged himself, but took no care to disguise himself apart from glamouring his scar. Most people would likely confuse him for his dead father instead of his younger self.

But not Severus Snape.

He had only managed to down a single drink before Snape swept in, looking tense and full of righteous anger, but only if you were looking for it. He hid it well, in a face too impassive and a stride too stiff.

Snape stopped next to him, standing rigid.

'What are you doing.'

It wasn't a question so much as an admonishment for brazenly wearing his real face in public.

'Getting pissed,' Harry said shortly without looking at him, taking a large gulp of firewhisky. It burned down his throat and gave him something to focus on other than the brooding figure next to him.

Snape leaned in, putting his hand over top of Harry's tumbler and putting weight on it so that he could not lift it.

'You are getting back to the school before someone recognizes you.'

He leaned back quickly, withdrawing his hand in a flash. Harry took a deep breath. The alcohol was not having the effect he had hoped, anyway. He tossed back the rest of his drink and shrugged, getting up from the stool. Snape stepped away, gliding towards the door just out of reach, but not moving so fast as to ever lose sight of Harry. He held back another sigh as he followed the man out into the night.

'You are becoming entirely too reliant on alcohol,' Snape commented as they walked the dark streets towards the school. Harry gave a dry laugh.

'I think I've earned it, don't you?' He glanced over at Snape and saw that his glower was in full force. 'If Harry Potter wants to be a drunk, why not? As long as he gets the job done!'

He didn't notice that Snape had stopped in his tracks until he was several paces away. Harry turned, feeling a bit looser with the alcohol he had consumed, though not drunk.

'What?' he asked in exasperation. Snape folded his arms and seemingly refused to budge.

'You are operating under the false impression that nobody gives a damn about you, Potter.'

'Yeah?' Harry said, a bit too loudly, as he stomped back towards Snape through the snow. He stood toe to toe with Snape, seething with alcohol-fuelled fury. 'You don't know shit about me, Severus Snape. Or what I've been through. Or what I'm going through now.'

'Now?' Snape asked, his brow knitting together in irritation. 'Are you still labouring under the delusion that reliving your life will be difficult?'

'I don't care!' Harry shouted, stepping back and throwing his arms wide. 'Honestly, I don't even care!' he said, turning around and looking up into the black of the night sky. 'But I'm alone.'

He could feel Snape watching him carefully. Looking back down into his hands, he shivered in the cold.

'I went through a lot of really terrible shit,' Harry continued, his voice thickening as tears gathered in his eyes. 'But my friends-'

The tears fell down his cheeks as his voice caught.

'My friends were there with me.' He swiped at his face with his sleeve. 'Every step of the way.' He laughed sadly. 'Even when they probably shouldn't have been there, they were.'

Harry looked back at Snape, who wore a strange expression on his face.

'I don't have my friends anymore, Severus. I can't even _make_ friends here. They're all irritating little prats.' He sighed, and more tears fell. 'My body will hold me back.' His hands pressed into his stomach, acknowledging the child body within. 'I can't find someone to build a life with,' he said softly. 'Anyone I'd want to be with, would never want to be with me. I have no one.'

He sniffed loudly, and looked back at Snape.

'I don't have anyone I can even tell.'

Hot tears fell freely down his cheeks now, and Snape stepped forward angrily.

'Are you daft, Potter? You think you are so special, so _unique_ , that no one in this world could possibly have shouldered a similar burden?'

Snape's eyes were blazing, and his anger startled the tears from Harry's eyes.

'What-'

'I have not had a _single_ friend since your mother died,' Snape spat. 'I have never _held_ someone I've loved, I have not _cried_ on a shoulder, I have not _told_ someone my darkest secrets. Because there has been _no one_.'

Snape's eyes flashed as he marched past Harry, continuing on towards the school.

'The life of a spy is not so different, Potter, if you'd but _asked,_ ' he barked over his shoulder.

Harry swallowed hard and ran to catch up.

'I'm sorry! Severus!' He reached out a hand and grabbed Snape's arm to stop him and turn him. 'I'm sor-'

It wasn't clear to him, even later, how they ended up in the bone-crushing kiss, but it happened nonetheless. Snape's hands tangled harshly into the hair on the back of Harry's head, smashing their lips together.

But they were out in the open, and it was the holidays. Revelry was still high, and they would likely be caught out. Snape was clutching him tightly, and suddenly began moving. Harry struggled to keep up, but his feet bungled beneath him as Snape drove them into an alley, moving Harry backwards through the snowy street. He clung to Snape, expecting a snide comment about his ability to walk, but none came.

It felt like their first encounter outside the Heartless Harpy. Snape pushed him roughly into the wall.

' _Merlin_ , Sev-'

A hand clamped suddenly over his mouth and he groaned deep in his throat.

It was slow, and rendered Harry undone. Snape's arms gripped him tightly around the legs, and Harry couldn't even feel the brick behind him anymore. A few moments later, Snape pulled away, letting him slide down into the snow, his pants still around his knees.

'Return to the castle immediately,' Snape said over his shoulder, setting off into the night on his own. Harry's mind was swimming with thoughts and chemicals as he sat up, increasingly aware of various wet spots in his robes. A few wand waves had things back in order and reasonably tidy, and he felt ready to return to Hogwarts. He had almost beamed at the thought that Snape had been with him, knowing full well that he was Harry Potter, but then he remembered that Snape had looked him in the face not even once. Not even when it was over.

Folding his arms against the snow, Harry let the cold numb him as he walked.

He threw back a dose of Shrinking Solution before making his way into the castle. It was not quite curfew, so he entered the front doors and ducked down into the dungeons unobserved. After a quick shower, Harry dressed in pyjamas and sat on his bed, his small pile of Christmas packages catching his eye once more.

'Well, I guess these are for me,' he said aloud, reaching for the top parcel, from Hagrid.

It was, indeed, the roughly-cut wooden flute. He blew it experimentally – it sounded a bit like an owl, just as it had before. He played a few more notes, and regretted that he had never used the flute for anything except his first year adventure. He vowed to do more this time.

The next package was not addressed to him, but was signed _F + G_. A grin slowly spread across Harry's face as he unwrapped a starter joke set from Zonko's. He hadn't been on such terms with the twins in his own first year, and he was suddenly very glad things had changed this time around.

The next present was from Hermione, and he unwrapped it with a groan as soon as he saw the cover.

 _Travels with Trolls_ , by Gilderoy Lockhart. It was accompanied by a lovely bookmark shaped like a snake, whose scales shimmered – no doubt charmed by Hermione herself.

The last package was from Draco. It was a small box, wrapped tastefully in forest green paper with silver ribbon.

It was a set of binoculars – silver plated, not gold like Draco's – and included a handwritten note from his friend.

 _Now stop whingeing._

Harry laughed, putting the binoculars in the velvet bag they came with, and set them aside with his other gifts.

It was then that he noticed another package. His stomach dropped and he broke out in a sweat. He reached for it. It was flat and light. He carefully removed the paper and gasped as the silvery-grey material of his cloak slithered into his lap.

A note crinkled in it, and he plucked it out of the folds.

 _Your father left this in my possession before_

 _he died. It is time it was returned to you._

 _Use it well._

 _A Very Merry Christmas to you._

There was no signature, but he knew Dumbledore's script. Sighing, Harry leaned back in his bed, spreading his cloak over his body and pulling his covers over top of it. As he drifted off, a sudden thought struck him.

 _If you ever_ do _run across it, you will be prepared._

'Son of a _bitch_ ,' he groaned into his pillow. 'The bastard set me up!'


	17. Auld Lang Syne

**A/N:** This was my worst chapter so far for writer's block, so you can blame most of the winter break in my writing on this chapter right here. Thanks to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her work as my beta-reader. Without her cheering me on through this chapter, well... I might still be working on it.

* * *

On New Year's Eve, Harry arrived at seven o'clock on the dot, as agreed, much to Hagrid's visible chagrin. He had clearly lost track of the time, as he was hurrying through the last of his preparations, tidying and fussing as though the Minister for Magic were attending. He gestured Harry to a seat at the table and placed a large pot of tea in the centre, along with a very large, very stained mug, and a smaller mug with a chip on the rim. Harry wrapped his hands around the smaller mug, trying to ignore how his eleven-year-old hands gripped a mug in comparison to how his adult hands did.

After something was pushed hastily into the oven and his business was finished, Hagrid sat with a satisfied sigh, beaming at Harry. Fang had taken up his usual spot, his head lolling on Harry's leg, drool oozing down his robes. Harry scratched him behind the ears affectionately. Hagrid had been devastated when he had lost Fang several years ago. Harry tried not to think about it.

'How's yer classes?' Hagrid asked, pouring tea for Harry and himself. He fetched the sugar and milk, which he had forgotten. Harry sighed quietly to himself.

'Easy,' he mumbled. 'Kind of boring.'

Hagrid's eyebrows rose.

''Eard you were doin' well,' he said lightly.

'Gifted, right?' Harry smirked. Hagrid tried to look innocent. 'A genius, perhaps?'

'Maybe,' Hagrid agreed. 'What's yer favourite?'

Harry considered. By the end of his time at Hogwarts, he would have said - overall - Defense Against the Dark Arts. The fact that very few of his teachers had been competent had little impact; it was the subject itself he had loved and excelled at. But now, a lifetime of fighting Voldemort and more than his share of years in the MLE department, the subject was old hat and brought back bad memories.

'Probably Charms,' he mused at last. 'But Transfiguration is interesting, too.'

Hagrid nodded.

'Yeh don' like Potions, then?'

Harry snorted, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

'It is a challenging subject,' he admitted. 'I understand how to do it if I have instructions, but I will never have the finer nuance of...' he paused.

'Professor Snape?' Hagrid prompted. But Harry frowned.

'I was going to say my mum,' Harry said softly. 'But then, I don't know exactly how good she was at Potions.'

Hagrid looked a little sad, clutching his mug of tea. A timer dinged, and he jumped up and hustled to the oven. Harry watched passively as Hagrid took a pan of rock cakes out of the oven, and winced as he tossed them roughly into a basket, shaking his hands from the heat of the pastries.

Fresh out of the oven, they were a delight. It seemed that improper storage may have been Hagrid's downfall with the cakes. A little clotted cream, butter, and jam later, and they were well-fed.

'Yer Mum was brilliant at most everything she did,' Hagrid told Harry, satisfactorily licking his lips. He swiped a finger along his plate where a little jam was left, licking it off with a hum of delight.

'I know she was brilliant,' Harry said tiredly. 'I know Dad was brave. That's what everyone says.'

Hagrid nodded.

'It's just... I feel like that's all anyone says. I don't know what they were actually interested in, or what their dreams were for after Voldemort. I don't know what Mum was actually rubbish at, or who my Dad was a prat to.'

Hagrid's eyes darkened slightly at this.

'I want to know Mum's favourite sweet, and Dad's favourite drink, and what they liked to do in their spare time. Did they have an owl? Who were their neighbours?

'I know these things about my friends,' Harry said confidently. 'I wish I knew them about my parents.'

He let out a deep breath, unaware of how worked up he had gotten. He had gleaned a few stories from Snape about his mother, but they were usually intellectual stories of their classes or studying. Hagrid looked startled, and perhaps a touch uncomfortable. He sat, rigid, for a moment, before swiping at his plate again.

'Well, yer Mum was rubbish at flying, fer one.'

Harry laughed instantly, thinking of poor Hermione on a broomstick. Hagrid's eyes crinkled as he chuckled, too.

'Yer Dad teased her fiercely 'bout that o'er the years.'

And so, Hagrid relayed what he knew, and told Harry who else to ask. He told Harry about Lily's friendship with Severus, and some other Gryffindor girls that he thought might still be alive. He did not speak of the Mauraders. So Harry pushed.

'So, do you think they would be all right with me?' Harry asked, after another round of laughter at his parents' adventures had ended.

'They would be so proud of you,' Hagrid said, beaming, his eyes tearing up.

'Even with me a Slytherin?'

Hagrid scoffed.

'O' course! Yer Mum was best friends with Professor Snape, after all!'

'And Dad was okay with that?'

Hagrid shifted.

'He grew ou' ta his problems with Slytherin,' Hagrid said confidently. 'Like we all do.'

'But he didn't have any Slytherin friends, did he?'

Hagrid looked away for a moment, muttering something.

'What was that?' Harry asked. Hagrid looked upset, then, flushing red, his brows furrowing, turning his face into a seamlessly bushy mass.

'I said, he may has well have!' He huffed, and turned partly away. He frowned. 'I shouldna' said that,' he said softly.

'You're talking about Sirius Black,' Harry said.

Hagrid looked at him, a mixture of anger and surprise on his face.

'How do yeh know about him?'

'I can read, Hagrid,' Harry lied gently. He was already thought of as a genius, so implying that he simply looked things up was an easy fabrication, and Hagrid bought it.

'So if you haven't let go of your prejudice against Slytherin, do you think my father would have?'

Hagrid looked insulted at first, but then relaxed, uncrossing his arms and unfurling his brow.

'Now yer-'

'No, Hagrid.' Harry was using his mentor tone, and Hagrid stopped speaking immediately. 'You've insinuated that, because Sirius Black betrayed my parents, he should have been sorted into Slytherin. Your bias is still holding strong.'

Hagrid crossed his arms again.

'Now, and please be honest with me, do you think my father would feel the same way?'

Closing his eyes, Hagrid spoke, his voice wavering slightly.

'I 'ave the highest faith that James Potter would be proud of you and love you.'

He opened his eyes and grimaced.

'Even if he did, er- have trouble accepting it. At first,' Hagrid hurriedly added.

Harry grinned.

'I imagine Professor Snape would never have let him hear the end of it,' Harry chortled, and Hagrid laughed.

'Arry, yer father was the best kind of wizard, the best kind of man! He never judged others on what they couldna' help.'

'Like Remus being a werewolf,' Harry agreed, but the blood drained from Hagrid's face.

' _How_ -'

'I _read_ , Hagrid.'

'No,' Hagrid said, alarmed, shaking his head. 'Yeh wouldna' read about _that_ ,' he insisted.

'All right!' Harry said, throwing up his hands. 'I did some reading and jumped to some conclusions,' Harry feigned admitting, but then pointed at Hagrid. 'Conclusions _you_ just confirmed!'

Hagrid gaped.

'I don't care who - or what - Remus Lupin is,' Harry continued. 'I just wanted to know if my parents would be all right with me.'

Hagrid's face relaxed, and he smiled, reaching across the table for Harry's hands, but Harry pulled away before they touched.

'I'm gay, Hagrid.'

Hagrid froze and then pulled back, slowly.

'Ah.'

Harry's stomach dropped. He had blurted it as a distraction from his knowledge of Sirius and Remus, but he hadn't expected the sudden coldness from Hagrid. The man had been overjoyed when he had brought Matthew around for the first time.

'Are yeh sure?' Hagrid asked, looking distinctly puzzled. 'Yer rather…'

Harry felt his heart stop.

'... _young_ , is all.'

Harry relaxed, his heart beating once more. He smiled, and reached for Hagrid's hands, which were offered without reservation this time.

'Would you ask me that if I said I liked a girl?'

Mulling it over for a moment, Hagrid gave Harry a sheepish grin.

'No, I suppose yer right.'

They sat in an awkward silence for a moment, and Hagrid glanced at the clock.

'Should probably get back ter the castle, 'Arry,' he said stiffly, stretching a bit and getting up. Harry's stomach knotted as he stood also. He had not wanted their visit to end this way, but he didn't know how to fix it.

He got his cloak on in silence, and gave Fang a goodbye pat. Giving Hagrid a tentative smile, he reached for the door.

'Yer father never judged others on what they couldna' help,' Hagrid said awkwardly as Harry's hand gripped the doorknob. Harry turned, his shoulders relaxing. 'An' I try not to… too.'

Harry's face crumpled as he stepped into Hagrid's frame, his arms unable to reach entirely around the large man.

'Thank you,' he mumbled into Hagrid's clothing. Dinner plate-sized hands patted his shoulders gently.

Harry stepped back, feeling tears prickle in his eyes. Hagrid leaned down, his eyes earnest.

'Ne'er be afraid to talk to me, 'Arry.'

Harry nodded mutely, swiping at his eyes.

'I'm proud as a peacock over you.'

A laugh escaped Harry, sounding like a sob. Hagrid pulled him in for another hug.

'Now get back 'fore Dumbledore has my hide!'

Harry trudged back up to the castle in the dark, with Hagrid watching from the door with Fang, wishing every tough conversation ended the way this one had. The hallways were mostly empty on his way to the Slytherin dormitory, and Harry was glad for it. He locked and warded himself into his room, hoping to work through the emotions he was feeling alone.

He had never asked someone who had known his parents how they would feel about his sexuality. He had been almost certain his mother would still have loved him, but he had always felt conflicted about his father, and merely avoided thinking about it. Yet Hagrid was right; his father hadn't turned Remus away for his poverty, nor his lycanthropy. His own attraction to men could easily be compared to Remus being a werewolf; many would see it as a negative trait, but his father would have seen it as something he could not help, and perhaps would have made a grand adventure out of it besides. He cozied himself into bed with a smile, drifting into sleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

' _Kill the spare!_ ' It was not the raspy cry of a degenerated Lord Voldemort, but the throaty cry of someone new.

Samson fell into Harry, his body heavy and solid, and Harry fell to his knees as he clutched at Samson's body.

'Noooooo!'

Samson's expression was frozen, looking as though any second, the joke would end and he would blink and crack a smile, his beard crinkling around his lips.

'Samson! Matthew! Matt! Matt! _Matt!_ ' Harry cried, patting frantically at Samson's chest. His eyes only continued to stare.

'Get up. You've wasted enough of our time already.'

Harry rocked Samson gently, wiping dirt off his face and smoothing his hair.

There was a scuffle behind him and a robed and masked figure grabbed Samson and pulled him out of his arms.

'No! Samson! _Matthew!_ '

A pair of strong arms seized Harry from behind and hauled him to his feet.

A man in robes approached Harry and shoved his wand underneath Harry's jaw, pressing in painfully, his face covered by a Death Eater's mask.

'Ready to show us the way, Mr Potter?'

Harry spat in his face, his spittle landing on the cheek of the mask. The man jerked as if it had landed on his own skin.

'Now, that's not really the way to cooperate, is it? _Crucio._ '

Harry jerked awake in his Hogwarts bed, his body shaking with the memory of Samson's death and the torture he had endured for hours. He cast a tempus charm to see that it had only just struck midnight.

 _Happy New Year indeed_ , Harry thought bitterly. It hadn't lasted long.


	18. The Gryffindor Side of Things

**A/N:** Thanks to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her continued work as my beta-reader. She's pretty great.

I have decided to take down the explicit material from my story to comply with 's rules & guidelines. All chapters will remain unedited on AO3 if that's your thing. I will let you know in my notes whether or not the chapter has been edited for content. Thank you for understanding.

* * *

Severus had not seen Potter since their ill-advised tryst in Hogsmeade. It had been a distinctly bad idea. He had been half-expecting to be sacked once he got back to the castle, since Albus seemed to know everything;he certainly would know about _this_. Their encounter had been anything but private. He cringed when his thoughts strayed to the fact that Potter was Lily's son, or the fact that Potter was... well, a Potter. But none of it had mattered when he had been fucking that sweet marvel in a Hogsmeade alley.

It wasn't until he was speaking the words that Severus had acknowledged it: the pain in his soul that yearned for connection. It had been so long since there had been anything beyond the blow job that had turned out – irritatingly enough – to also have been doled out by Potter. He knew exactly how Potter felt, staring into the abyss of solitude. He faced it every day. Of course Potter had been too wrapped up in his own feelings to entertain the thought that, perhaps, he might not be alone. That, perhaps, Severus could relate. Albus thought it best to 'give the boy some space', likely to process whatever taunting horror he had witnessed in the mirror.

He was not entirely sure what to expect the first day back from the Christmas break, but it certainly set the tone for the week. Potter was a distraction at best, and a danger at worst. He made a drastic error – or perhaps a well-calculated change – with his potion in every class, creating an explosion of some sort. He would then make a ridiculous face and say, 'oops', as if a twenty-eight year old Ministry official could make such dunderheaded mistakes. The staff room was abuzz with Potter's mishaps: accidental engorgements in Charms, fizzling spells in Transfiguration, and – perplexingly – explosions of soil and compost in Herbology. Minerva claimed he was being especially rude in his detentions and refused to write his lines, recite apologies, or even do manual cleaning tasks. He merely sat and stared, with a petulant expression on his face. She had already assigned him an additional week. Not that Severus could blame her.

It came to a head on Friday with the morning double Potions. Potter strode in, towering above his classmates. He sat down at his desk with a dramatic flump – having to push his seat back to adjust for his twenty-eight-year-old frame – and stamped his boots up on the chair in front of him. Students gaped, whispered, and looked afraid. Draco sat down next to him in confused awe.

It felt like a cloud of insects were taking flight in Severus's stomach. He realized he had never really gotten a good look at Potter at his true age; he was always disguised, or shrouded in the dim light of a dingy drinking establishment, or he had simply been pointedly not looking at him. Potter radiated power and confidence. His hair was shaggy and glossy, brushing across the barely visible curse scar on his forehead. His smirk was somehow cocky but not quite arrogant. In his adult body, he had no reason to trip over himself and act small. He was himself and it was glorious.

'Potter?' Draco asked, bemused. He glanced at Severus at the front of the room. 'Are you _daft?'_

'Yes, it's me,' Potter answered, smirking. 'And no, I'm not.'

Severus stood slowly, and the class fell silent instantly. The students seemed to be collectively holding their breath. Severus was glad of it. Potter's hands were folded over his stomach, the thin, white scars glinting off the back of his right hand. His sleeves had ridden up just enough that he could see two thick scars on Potter's left wrist, perpendicular to the radial edge of his forearm.

'Mr. Potter,' he breathed, audible to every silent pupil in the room, 'what is the meaning of this?'

He clearly wanted to draw attention to himself, so attention would be what he would get. He obviously had to get something off his chest.

Potter shrugged flippantly.

'Just waiting for class to start, sir.'

Millicent Bulstrode snorted nervously, and clapped her hands over her mouth and nose.

'Remove your feet from Ms. Granger's chair immediately.'

Granger was one of the few students not looking at Potter or himself, sitting on the very front of her seat looking distinctly unsettled.

Potter's feet landed on the floor with smart stomps.

'Happy?' he asked in a clipped tone.

'Stop this at once.'

Potter raised his chin.

'No.'

There was a collective muted gasp.

Severus narrowed his eyes. This was undoubtedly going to escalate quickly.

'Class dismissed.'

The tension had been so thick, the effect was immediate. Books were slammed shut, papers and quills shoved hastily into bags, and students were hurrying out the door before Severus could even walk around his desk. Draco slunk out last, giving Potter a queer look, as if trying desperately to figure his friend out but failing.

At his godson's exit, a flicked wand locked the door, and a second wave silenced the door; no doubt the rest of the class was clamouring in the hall next to the door to hear the results of their altercation.

Leaning against the front of his desk, Severus crossed his arms, his wand poking out behind his left arm threateningly. He shook his head lightly in confusion. He had kept an angry and intimidating visage while the students were present, but now they were simply two adults. It was far more equal, but far more dangerous.

'What is going on, Potter?'

Potter barked a laugh, his voice low and adult and confusing to Severus's thoughts.

'What is- I'm fucking _trapped_ , Snape!'

'I told you to call me-'

'I. Don't. _Care!_ ' Potter exploded, standing to punctuate his last word, his desk shooting off the floor as if jumping out of Potter's way in self-preservation. 'There is nothing for me here!'

'You are the key,' Severus said calmly, ignoring the outburst. 'You can defeat the Dark Lord. You can save the ones you have lost.'

Potter smiled coldly.

'You may think that, yes,' he agreed, 'but they are already _dead_.'

Severus went back behind his desk and sat, very still, letting Potter's rage roll over him. Perhaps the only way to deal with him was to weather the storm and let it pass.

'Explain.'

'I've already _seen_ them die,' Potter said emphatically. 'I have already grieved them. Imagine you are transported back to your first year, and Lily Evans is just _there_. Alive.'

'I would be glad-' Severus insisted.

'No!' Potter shouted, throwing his arms up in the air. 'No, it would _fuck you up!'_

He paced quickly, his breath strong and fast.

'There are so many ghosts at this school, and I don't know if I can save them all.' Potter turned, looking weary. 'What if I _can't_ save them? Then I will have lost them twice.' His voice cracked with feeling, and Severus blinked the stinging out of his own eyes. He swallowed hard as he ran through the scenario in his head quickly. He prevents the breakdown of his friendship with Lily, and does not join the Dark Lord. He does not overhear the prophecy, nor does he betray the Potters.

But they are still targeted, and Lily still dies.

His heart clenched painfully.

'But it is all you have,' Severus said at last. 'It is your cross to bear, as it were.'

'Yes,' Potter said bitterly, rubbing his forehead wearily. He pulled up a chair and sat down heavily across from Severus, at his desk. Severus looked him over, his eyes drawn to the spidery scars on the back of his hand. Potter glanced over at him. He snorted, breaking Severus' concentration.

'You keep looking at me like that, and it's going to go to my head,' Potter said innocently.

Severus glowered at him.

'And how, exactly, am I looking at you?'

Potter raised his eyebrows and looked at Severus over the tops of his glasses pointedly. Severus felt his cheeks grow hot and Potter snorted again.

He finally noticed Severus' eyes focused on the scars on the back on his right hand.

'Fifth year.'

Severus narrowed his eyes and leaned forward over his desk, grabbing Potter's hand to closely examine the scars.

'Is this your own writing?' he asked urgently, and Potter looked uncomfortable, pulling his hand away. Severus, however, would have none of it, and seized it again, looking closer.

'Yes,' he said, exasperatedly. 'It was a blood quill.' He relaxed against Severus' inspection, allowing him to take hold of his left arm. Severus took advantage and pushed the sleeve up, causing Potter to roll his eyes.

There was the Dark Mark he had seen before, blazing black, as if freshly received. Beneath the tattoo was a long, thin scar. Along Potter's radial bone were several thick scars, the longest and thickest being almost at the crook of his elbow, still pink.

Severus ran his fingers over the pink scar gently.

'A self-inflicted curse,' he muttered. He pushed Potter's arm back towards him, carelessly. 'The coward's way out.'

'It wasn't suicide, if that's what you're thinking,' Potter spat, cradling his arm and draping his sleeve back over it.

'It may as well have been,' Severus said tightly, moving back around his desk. 'A cut that deep in that area would no doubt have put you...'

His words trailed off as he looked back at Potter. His face was pale, and his eyes were empty, staring off at the wall. Severus opened a drawer of his desk, skimming through several phials. Taking one out, he stepped back towards Potter.

'This needs to stop,' he commanded, handing over the phial. Potter took it, and glanced at the bright green contents. He tilted his head back wordlessly, and began to count the seventeen drops. It was then that Severus noticed the slight tremor in Potter's hands. He shrank away to his younger form right in front of Severus's eyes, the thick, pink scar fading after the first drop; the Dark Mark disappearing after drop six; the rest of the scars on his arm leaving at drops six to eleven; the spidery handwriting receding at drop thirteen. Severus carefully filed the information away.

Potter looked small and forlorn in his adult-sized robes, his torso loose inside his leather Auror armour. Severus pointed at the chest piece - burnished red leather with worn gold edging, peeking up through the neck of Potter's robes - and demanded an explanation with only a look. Potter rolled his eyes and sighed.

'I sustained nerve damage during... an incident. The pressure of the chest piece mutes the pain.'

The words sounded strange in the voice of a child, the tone disturbingly vacant.

There was a light knock at the door, and it opened with a click. Albus ducked his head in, rather cheerily.

'Everything all right, Severus? There are some very concerned first year students in the hall.'

'Yes,' Severus called, schooling his features into an irritated and terse expression. 'Just assigning Potter another round of detention.'

'Very good,' Albus said lightly, ducking back out. 'Carry on!'

'This weekend,' Severus hissed to Potter, rising from his seat. 'We are fixing your attitude this weekend!'

Potter sneered, also standing.

'I'm not your student, Severus. But have fun pretending.'

He kicked a desk petulantly out of his way, shrinking his clothes to his smaller body as he walked to the door, which burst open upon his approach.

''Sides, I have detention with McGonagall from now until the end of time.'

The door closed behind him, and Severus sighed heavily as he sunk back down into his chair. Potter was dangerous. Like a bubbling cauldron ready to explode at any moment.

* * *

Minerva was scandalized when she had heard what Potter had done that morning. Not only had he utilized an illicit potion, but his behaviour had forced Severus to cancel a double class of potions. He would no doubt be able to catch his students up – he always did – but she was very much rankled on behalf of her colleague. But it was merely the icing on the cauldron cake. While most of the student body returned to classes after Christmas break refreshed and energized, Potter was irascible and obnoxious all over school. Albus had vaguely mentioned something about Potter having found his ill-advised mirror after Christmas. He irritatingly refused to elaborate. But knowing Harry Potter's past, and what she had seen of the muggles he had been placed with, she could only imagine what sort of dreadful longing there might be inside the boy now that he had seen the deepest desires of his heart come to life.

Minerva had made it her mission to take the poor Slytherin boy under her wing, which was – she refused to admit aloud – where she knew he truly belonged. Slytherin House was not the place, nor Severus Snape the person, to guide a talented, broken child towards happiness. They had all seen what happened to those types in Slytherin House.

Still, she was almost surprised to see Potter walk through the door that evening for detention. Apparently, his recalcitrance did not extend so far as to actually miss detention. Or perhaps his mission was to be as irritating as possible to the staff, she mused, smirking humorlessly to herself.

Potter sat heavily, and just as the twitch ran through his muscles to throw his feet up on the desk in front of him, she cast. The entire desk beneath him vanished, and Potter shouted in surprise as he collapsed to the stone floor. He groaned as he rolled over, and she felt her conscience twinge. Shoving the feeling aside for the moment, she spoke as calmly as she could.

'Now, then, Mr. Potter. We do not put our feet up on the desks or we lose the desk. Understand?'

The flare of anger was strong in his eyes, and she had to restrain herself from crowing in encouragement of his spirit. Potter got up defiantly, marched over to another desk and sat. The legs screeched against the floor as he threw his small weight into it, and just as she cast to banish the desk, he threw up a strong shield. The spell bounced and vanished a desk across the room. Beneath her, her chair turned into a slippery pile of snakes. Minerva scrambled with an undignified yelp, simply unnerved more than frightened as they hissed and slithered around her hands and ankles. Not that the boy knew that. He was guffawing mightily, and the tops of her ears pricked with heat. A first year student would not best her. He sat in another desk, and she cast another spell with as much dignity as she could muster.

It was when there was not a single desk left in the room, but a variety of different animals, sporting equipment, and outlandish furniture – such as the bright purple wardrobe at the front of the room – that they at last ceased, panting. But Potter was finally smiling. The rage had left him when Minerva had transfigured his chosen desk into a tub full of ice water. He had splashed into it with a great bellow of dismay, only to start laughing and chattering as he slipped trying to climb out.

'I will be suitably impressed once you can return all the desks to their original forms,' Minerva said firmly, raising a brow as Potter's expression fell.

'But not the ones you did?' he asked hopefully.

'I think you already know the answer to that, Mr. Potter.'

He began with her desk – the bright purple wardrobe – which gave her a comfortable seat from which to watch his work. He didn't ask a single question, and only seemed to have trouble when the transfigured forms moved, such as the ostrich, or wrangling all the snakes back into a single pile, which took him several minutes.

She had not seen a first year with his skills in her entire time at Hogwarts. A first year should not have been able to turn them all back into desks. Then again, he certainly should not have been able to turn the desks into these items and animals in the first place. It was incredible to watch, and the hairs stood up on the back of her neck as she remembered the carnage of Hallowe'en night in the girls' toilets that Potter had caused. Albus was right. He needed a firm guiding hand. A firm, _Gryffindor_ guiding hand.

Potter sat at his last transfigured desk with an exhausted sigh as if he had just played Quidditch for several hours. Minerva knew the exertion of the spellwork he had just completed quite well. It should keep him placid at least until Saturday afternoon, she thought smugly.

'If you show up with the correct attitude, Mr. Potter, your detentions next week could be very much the same. Would that suit you?'

He seemed to perk up at her words, his eyes glittering. Rising to her challenge.

'Yes, it would, Professor. Very much.'

'Good. It is almost curfew. Be on your way to the dungeons,' she instructed as he headed hurriedly for the door, ' _directly!_ '

Minerva felt a distinct glow of satisfaction as she left her classroom. Indeed, Potter had a Gryffindor side. She was sure of it.


	19. Another Word for Chess

**A/N:** Thank you, as always, to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) and her wonderful beta-reading skills.

* * *

Potter's behaviour subsided back to what Severus considered normal: poorly acting like a child genius and enamouring the entire staff once more, his transgressions of the previous weeks quickly forgiven and forgotten. After a week of detentions-turned-tutoring-sessions with Minerva, Potter's attitude had changed completely. Potter seemed to have accepted his position in this version of his life, and the mental stimulation of a veritable peer was proving to be a boon to his emotional stability.

He could hardly begrudge Potter this new found peace.

Nevertheless, he found himself bordering on irate when he entered the staffroom that Sunday to find Minerva convincing Filius to take Potter on for extra study, as well.

'He's even taught me a few things in return, but he shan't find out, of course,' she was saying under her breath with a muted chortle. 'I think it's important for Potter's well-being, truly. Ah, Severus! You tutor Mr Potter as well, Albus mentioned?'

She phrased it like a question, and the twinkle in her eye told Severus she knew exactly how often he had seen Potter since classes began.

'Yes, I've been tutoring him almost since the beginning of the year,' Severus said smoothly, causing Minerva's ears to tinge pink at the peak as her smirk froze. 'I would continue, for he is rather adept at Potions, yet...' Severus fixed her with a pointed stare, 'his time appears to have been monopolized as of late.'

Filius twittered nervously, as Minerva's smirk twisted into an infinitely more smug expression.

'Albus encouraged me to guide the boy, you see,' she said innocently. 'He is ever so talented.'

'Does the boy even have a choice in which lessons to attend?' Severus asked. Minerva lifted her chin slightly.

'After his last detention on Friday, he most certainly has.'

'And I take it that you will be letting Potter spend a certain amount of time with Filius for Charms lessons?' Severus looked to the tiny professor in question, and he beamed.

'I think Mr Potter would be an apt pupil and a boon to-'

'Excellent,' Severus cut in sharply, looking back severely at Minerva. 'Then since he is of _my_ house, I should have no trouble arranging for his Potions lessons to continue.'

Minerva pursed her lips tightly, but Severus could see she was only trying to smother her smirk.

'As long as those, too, are optional, Severus. He may have no interest at all and might only be accepting out of politeness.'

Severus sneered and turned away, hearing Filius gasp behind him. He settled comfortably into a glower as he left.

He could understand their position, of course. Potter was enormously powerful, even by adult standards, and while not a brilliant _adult_ , his originality was at times a form of brilliance in and of itself. His stubborn determination could make up the difference where it counted, adding up to the appearance of being a child prodigy. Now that Potter was so popular - between the staff and keeping up appearances with homework and friends - Severus hadn't seen him outside class in weeks.

It was time for dinner when Severus finally found Potter heading for the Slytherin table, and seized him by the arm to drag him away from a gawping Draco, back out into the entrance hall.

'What of it?' Potter demanded hotly, wrenching his arm away. Severus glowered at several passing students, and the berth they received instantly doubled.

'Chess,' Severus said shortly, folding his arms over his chest.

Potter folded his arms over his own chest.

'What about chess?' he said tersely.

'My office. Seven o'clock.'

Potter's eyebrow quirked, and the corner of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

'Well? Do you acquiesce?'

Potter was smirking.

'Severus Snape,' he asked under his breath, leaning in, 'are you asking me out?'

'Never,' Severus snapped, leaning back instinctively, feeling his face redden. He looked around, paranoid, but by some miracle of magic there were no other students in the corridor.

Potter was grinning like an idiot now.

'Sure,' he said with a nod. 'I'll come play _chess_.'

With a scandalizing wink, disconcerting on the face of an eleven-year-old, Potter twisted on his heel and went back into the Great Hall.

Severus scowled, wishing his face would cool. It would be completely inappropriate to be seen blushing with a student. It was completely unacceptable to have his own words used in such an unseemly fashion against him. Potter was completely incorrigible.

* * *

Potter arrived at seven o'clock on the dot. The chess set was open on Severus' desk, and he had a tea tray ready with scones and jam.

'I have some Ageing Potion if you changed your mind about the date,' Potter said cheekily, shaking a small phial in his hand. Severus snarled and snatched it away before the imp could down it.

'This is chess. No more,' Severus snapped, sitting behind his desk as Potter shrugged and sat across from him.

Potter played aggressively, but flippantly, apparently without care for his pieces. They began to shout at him in dismay when he ordered their movement into spots of danger. He ignored them.

'Not that I am complaining,' Severus said cautiously at last, feeling mildly uncomfortable with the length of the silence between them, 'but may I ask what brought the change in attitude?'

Potter avoided his eyes, but seemed to wilt slightly as he gave a one-shouldered shrug.

'I'm trapped here. May as well roll with the punches.'

He expertly captured Severus' rook with his knight.

'And yet it seems...' Severus drew the word out as he captured Potter's same knight with his bishop, 'almost as if you have swung too far the other way.'

Potter shrugged again and studied the board silently.

'There are options that I'm sure Minerva and Filius have already addressed with you. You could take your exams.'

Potter didn't move.

'You could graduate. You never did, correct?'

'No, I didn't,' Potter said softly, still scanning the pieces.

'But still you remain.'

Finally, Potter's eyes met his. They were blazing.

'Yes, I _remain_. I'm trapped here, Severus.'

'We've already established-'

'Not in that way,' Potter said, waving his hand in exasperation. 'I'm trapped by Dumbledore.'

'I assure you, Albus already knows of your apparent gifts.'

'And that's how it needs to stay,' Potter said firmly. 'That Dumbledore thinks I'm gifted, and nothing more.'

'You are being-'

'Even Dumbledore stayed for all seven of his years, right?'

'Yes, but you-'

'And Voldemort?'

'Yes,' Severus snarled, getting more and more frustrated. 'But he was not-'

'So that's it. I have to stay, it's a matter of-'

Severus reached across the board and flicked Potter sharply on the nose, startling him soundly into silence.

'Enough,' Severus said sharply. 'You will not interrupt me.'

Potter shook his head softly, though a smile played on his lips as he rubbed his nose.

'You have not told Albus your true identity for your own reasons,' Severus abridged. 'But surely you can't think that staying here in classes you could teach yourself is the best use of your time?'

Potter sighed.

'Of course not. I would much rather be doing almost anything else.'

Severus waited, and finally Potter sighed again.

'There are... _things_ I need before I can destroy the Horcruxes. There are things I need that I can only get here.'

'And you will not tell me what they are.'

'Well, one is the weapon I used to destroy the Horcruxes. There's really no point in leaving before I can get that, is there?'

He hated to admit it when Potter had a point.

'And then there's the matter of the Horcruxes in the school, themselves.'

Severus reached across and grabbed Potter's hand as it reached for a chess piece.

'What.'

It was not a question.

He could see Potter swallow hard, but he met Severus' eyes.

'One will arrive next year,' he said softly. 'Another is hidden here right now. But there is no point in tracking them down until I have the weapon.'

Severus let his hand go, dropping it as if it were poisoned.

'Draco tells me you talk in your sleep.'

The words were offhand, but the distracting effect was immediate and dramatic. Potter's face remained impassive, but his posture had stiffened.

'Doesn't everyone?' he said evenly, reaching across the board to capture another rook.

'Who is Samson?'

Potter froze, his hand held comically above the board, Severus' rook in his fist.

'Matthew,' he breathed, and – as if the word had melted him – he relaxed back into motion.

'Matthew Samson?' Severus said, with sudden, gut-wrenching realization. He had been one of his most ambitious Slytherins. 'He graduated last year.'

'Yes,' Potter said, his eyes shuttering. 'That makes sense. He was seven years older than I am.'

Severus knew the tense was intentional.

'He is dead, then.'

Potter swallowed hard, and it was not caused by Severus' finger touching a piece that could easily now capture Potter's queen. His removed his hand; it would not be fair to capitalize on Potter's emotional distraction to win a mere game. He sat back.

'Yes. He died about... I guess it would be six months ago, if time were linear for me.'

Severus was taken aback. He had not expected the death to be so recent. He leaned forward slowly. Something had happened. Potter was on medical leave. There was the chest armour he had to wear to keep pain at bay. The tremor in his adult hands, but not his young ones. The fresh, self-inflicted curse scar on his arm. The recent death of Matthew Samson. Something _terrible_ had happened.

'Who?'

The gaze that met Severus' was reminiscent of the look in Potter's eyes when he had been ensconced in the memory of a flashback on Hallowe'en night. It was dark, like a tunnel leading somewhere deep into the earth.

'Death Eaters.'

Severus gave Potter a considering look. He wasn't exactly being forthcoming, but then, he was usually more obstinate when he did not want to pursue a course of questioning.

'Who was he to you?'

'I met him first when I started at the Ministry. He was my mentor for a year. He figured out what I could do, and pushed me further.'

Severus frowned. The chess game was officially on pause, and he pushed the board slowly out of the way, conjuring another pot of tea. He contemplated putting some brandy in it, but Potter was still child-sized.

'Further?'

Potter gave a dispassionate sigh, as if he had rehashed these details many times.

'He wanted me to be stronger, faster, and better. Said I had the potential to be the best Auror the Ministry had ever seen.'

'I have no doubt it's true,' Severus said begrudgingly.

Potter gave a small smile.

'Matt made it seem like it was... I don't know, like my duty or something. As a wizard, but also as an Auror. As _The Saviour_.' Potter folded his hands and placed them delicately on the desk in front of him. He was steadfastly avoiding Severus' eyes, and his hands were in constant motion, fidgeting and picking. 'He implied that it would be my responsibility to keep those under my watch safe, especially as I moved up in the department.' Potter snorted, relaxing his shoulder and swiping up the side of his face with one palm. 'Hermione always said I had a _saving people thing_.'

'He certainly had your number, then,' Severus remarked, and Potter's eyes darkened.

'Yes, he did.' He leaned back and sighed again. 'He used me.'

'For what point and purpose?'

'I took him as my date to Ron and Hermione's wedding.' _Interesting_ , Severus noted. Weasley and Granger getting married. It seemed absolutely implausible. 'We continued training, and I received two promotions while we were together.'

'What ended it?'

'I figured out what he was doing. There was a memorial ball every summer to commemorate the final battle with...' he glanced at Severus' face quickly, 'with _him_. It's just a bunch of speeches from politicians and whoever happens to be the most famous survivor in attendance.' He grimaced. 'I avoided them like the plague. Matthew got me to start going to them. But they gave me nightmares.' Potter sighed deeply, his brows knitting and his jaw tightening.

'I didn't want to go. I had been to two with Matt, and they were progressively getting worse. They wanted me to be the keynote speaker,' Potter said derisively. 'Like a memorial ball needs a bloody keynote speaker! I told Matthew I didn't want to go. He insisted, despite the fact that it impacted how I would feel for months afterwards. He basically used our engagement-'

'Engagement?' Severus blurted, unable to help himself. 'You were engaged to be married?'

'That's what the term usually means, yes,' Potter said with a confused half-smile. 'He used our engagement as leverage to get me to attend. It was what made me realize that he had just been bolstering my position, training me to be the best, that he had been the one calling the press on us... just to get his own fifteen minutes.'

'So you left him.'

'Tossed his ring at him and warded him out the door,' Potter said proudly with a grin. The smile flickered and vanished. 'And two years later, he was murdered right in front of me.'

'By Death Eaters.'

Potter nodded.

'They were trying to resurrect _him_ using the Deathly Hallows.'

Severus scoffed, but Potter looked absolutely serious.

'They're a fairy tale,' Severus insisted. Potter shook his head.

'It's how I defeated him.'

His eyes glittered over the rim of his mug as he drank his tea, egging Severus into asking about the Deathly Hallows. He knew Potter would never tell him the details, though, and refused to take the bait.

'By _Remus_ , I assume you are referring to...'

'Lupin, yes,' Potter said. 'We were close.'

'And why do you call his name out in your sleep?'

Potter's eyes narrowed and his lip curled.

'Because he died,' Potter spat, lifting his mug defensively, and drowning whatever other vitriol he was withholding in his tea.

'Sirius?'

'Black. Also dead.'

'And Cedric?'

Potter put his cup down, tensing once more.

'Diggory,' he said softly, and would not meet Severus' eyes.

The face of the gangly youth from Hufflepuff danced before Severus' eyes, and his mouth went dry. The boy was doing well in all of his classes to such an extent that even Severus could find no fault in his efforts. Matthew Samson was an adult by now, making his own way in life. Severus could not truly feel sorry for the loss of Lupin nor Black; frankly, the world was better off without them. But Diggory was just a boy, both inside and out.

'When?'

Potter's eyes drifted to the ceiling.

'June of nineteen-ninety-five,' Potter said softly. Only four years away. Diggory would be in his sixth year, still a year from graduating. Still not independent. Still not fully an adult.

'Do you think you can stop it?'

The words slipped from his tongue before he could quell them, before he could restrain the feeling that overwhelmed him: fear for someone he cared about.

Potter sighed deeply.

'I believe so.'

Potter then fixed him with a goading stare, and Severus felt pinned to his chair with the force of it. Potter knew exactly what name he was also known to cry out in his nightmares. Tea did nothing to alleviate his dry mouth, and he couldn't quite find where he'd stuffed his voice in his internal panic.

'You want to know?' Potter asked in a low voice.

Severus swallowed hard. His hands were sweaty. He knew the answer already. He knew it in his bones. Potter's pledge of allegiance had been truth enough.

'Yes,' he said at last.

'What do _you_ think?' Potter said softly, but his voice had an edge. Severus' stomach formed into an icy knot.

'When?'

'You did not outlive him.'

Severus felt like he had been crushed under a stone. His chest felt tight, his breath would not come, and he felt as though his wavering restraint on his emotions might be lost. He reigned it all in tightly, though, and took a shuddering breath.

'And... do you think...'

Potter's gaze was like flint.

'Yes. I can.'

The knot in his stomach relaxed slightly. Severus found he did not want to know further specifics. He knew he would obsess, and attempt to micromanage his life so that – in the event that his death could not be avoided – he could accomplish as many of his goals as possible. No, it was better that he did not know. But he had to fight the urge to strangle the information out of Potter several times over the course of finishing their chess game. It meant trusting Potter not only with the secrets of his death, but also with his salvation. He felt uncertain as to whether he could bear it.


	20. Don't Worry, I Know a Guy

**A/N:** Once more, a big thank you to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her beta work. She really helped balance Ron's place in this chapter. Thanks also to Phoenix Black (AO3) for pointing out Cedric Diggory's actual age in the last chapter. I have updated it! This chapter will feature an extra amount of direct quotes from the original novel. All credit to J. , of course.

* * *

A routine developed for Harry, and he fell into step as a student at last. Obeying curfew became automatic. He found the increasing mountains of homework to be therapeutic; he relearned things he had forgotten, reviewed concepts, and even learned new things (like in History of Magic). Draco and Hermione became constant companions in the library, as two of the few things they could agree on were Harry and studying.

Oddly enough, Draco usually chose to sit next to Hermione rather than Harry. Likely it was so that he did not have to keep looking at Hermione, which still seemed to fill him with some sort of confusing disgust. But by the end of February, he had stopped complaining about her, even out of earshot. Ron steadfastly refused to join them on their study sessions, and Draco had no qualms about voicing his opinion about Ron.

'Shouldn't have someone like him around, anyway,' he scoffed one day as they entered the library one day. 'He'll lower the IQ of the whole room.'

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry snorted. It was funny because he knew Ron, and knew how brilliant he was at certain things.

'I bet he's better at chess than you,' Harry said confidently as they took their seats at a table. Draco sneered.

'Have you played him?'

'Yes.'

'Well, you haven't played _me_ ,' Draco said, affronted. 'How can you possibly compare?'

Because he beat McGonagall's chess set, Harry answered in his mind. To Draco, he merely shrugged.

'I guess you owe me a game, then.'

Just beyond Hermione's shoulder, he saw Hagrid shuffling in and out of the stacks, looking stiff and exceedingly awkward. He made a show of opening his text book and shuffling pages to look busy, all the while watching Hagrid ducking down to one shelf in particular and taking out various books, finally choosing one and heading up to see Madam Pince at the counter.

Looking back to the essay he had yet to start writing, he saw that Hermione was staring at him, and blushing from chin to hair. As his eyes met hers, she quickly looked back to her work and began writing furiously.

Oh.

He had been looking just over her shoulder. She probably thought he had been stealing glances at her and not the huge man painfully trying to tiptoe back through the library.

'Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?' he said cheerfully and loudly, and Hermione jerked, smearing ink across her parchment. Draco snorted next to her, and looked over at Hagrid with barely concealed antipathy.

'Jus' lookin',' he said, in a shifty voice that said he was most certainly not just looking. Harry sighed internally. He was the least subtle person he knew, even at age twenty-eight. 'An' what're you lot up ter?'

'Studying,' Hermione said pleasantly. Draco had gone back to his work, if only to avoid speaking. Hagrid glanced his way but said nothing.

'Well, keep up the good work!' Hagrid pronounced with a frozen smile, before frog marching himself out of the library, hands clutching a book behind his back.

Hermione looked confused.

'Was he... hiding a book?'

Harry shrugged slowly.

'It's a library,' Draco said, exasperated. 'He knows he's _allowed_ to borrow the books, right?'

'Draco,' Harry reprimanded. 'I think he's just... bad at keeping secrets.'

'What would _he_ honestly have to keep secret?' Draco said, unable to help himself.

Hermione looked defiantly at Draco.

'You think he can't have a private life?'

'Not at Hogwarts,' Draco scoffed.

'Why do you say that?' Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes.

'We see the teachers every day. They stay here, even on weekends. Do you think any of them are actually married? That any of them have kids?' Draco made a face and shook his head. 'No way. Because you can't have a private life at Hogwarts.'

Harry had never considered it before. It didn't mean that Hogwarts was the reason the staff were mostly single and childless. Perhaps Hogwarts was simply more attractive to the single and childless. But it was not an argument he wanted to get into with an eleven-year-old. He remembered now that Hagrid was trying to hatch a dragon, and suddenly his essay on Dittany – just like in his first year – felt infinitely less important than the disaster Hagrid was facing.

Hermione and Draco of course came with him as he headed to Hagrid's hut, dodging Ron, Seamus, and Dean in the courtyard. Harry sighed as he went to knock on the door, all the curtains shut tight, and smoke pouring out the top of the chimney. Hagrid called, 'Who is it?' before he let them in and then shut the door quickly behind them.

It was stifling hot inside, and Harry felt his chest squeeze tight as soon as the door closed. The blazing fire in the grate warmed his skin too much, and his nerves began to tingle. Hagrid made them tea as Draco sat gingerly on a chair, looking around in unabashed disgust and horror. When Hagrid offered him a stoat sandwich, he looked at Harry in a panic. Harry refused the sandwiches on behalf of all of them, to which Hermione and Draco looked greatly relieved.

'So – yeh wanted to talk?'

Hagrid's forehead – what was visible of it, anyway – was glistening with sweat. He sat rigidly, and his eyes kept shifting to the fire.

'Where did you get the egg, Hagrid?'

Hermione gasped, pointing to the fire, and Draco exclaimed aloud. Hagrid stood so suddenly, he knocked his chair over.

'Ah,' Hagrid said, fiddling nervously with his beard and swaying back and forth as if torn between hiding the egg in the fire and proud as punch to show it off. 'The egg, that's – er...'

'Where?' Harry demanded.

'Won it,' Hagrid said, pride winning out. He righted his chair and sat back down. 'Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.'

Draco made a sound of disbelief.

'But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?' Hermione asked.

'Well, I've bin doin' some readin',' Hagrid said, pulling a large book from under his pillow. 'Got this outta the library – _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit_ – it's a bit outta date, o' course...'

'Well, of course!' Draco broke in, sarcastically. 'Breeding has been outlawed since 1709, you great, blundering-'

' _Enough!_ ' Harry chided. Hagrid looked mortified, but it turned quickly into anger.

'I think yer friend has had enough tea, Harry,' Hagrid said stiffly, glaring at Draco as he pulled the teacups off the table.

'Time to go,' Harry said in a clipped tone, and even Draco didn't argue. They left quickly.

'What an idiot!' Draco crowed as soon as they were out of earshot.

'Malfoy!' Hermione barked, but Draco smirked.

'You saw what his house was made of!'

Hermione suddenly looked crestfallen.

'He lives in a _wooden house_ ,' she said miserably.

'He's in over his head,' Harry agreed. 'We should get rid of it for him.'

'Oi!' Draco exclaimed, 'I'm not some dragon slayer!'

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh.

'He's not saying we're going to kill it!' But she turned to Harry, worriedly. 'Are you?'

'Of course not.'

'Then what are we going to do?'

'Don't worry,' Harry said confidently. 'I know a guy.'

* * *

As it turned out, he _didn't_ know a guy. After a bit of thought, he realized he hadn't had any conversations with Ron about his family aside from whatever he had learned on the train to Hogwarts. He really couldn't be sure Ron had spoken about Charlie – he was fairly certain, but not certain enough – so he went a step up. For what was better than knowing a guy, other than knowing _two_ guys?

After a series of complicated spells, he tracked the Weasley twins down to the dungeons, heading into the kitchen for after-dinner snacks. They seemed impressed that he had found them and knew how to get into the kitchen.

'I heard you have a brother that works with dragons,' he said, knowing it would pique their interest.

'We do,' George said slowly, glancing at Fred.

'Charlie,' Fred confirmed. 'Why?'

Harry shrugged casually, playing up his Slytherin act.

'Oh, no reason. It's... just in case.'

He turned to leave them, standing there slack-jawed beside the bowl of fruit painting, but George regained his senses.

'Oi! Just in case of what, exactly?'

'You're not interested in dragons, surely?' Fred asked, as they caught up to him. 'They're mighty dangerous.'

'Too dangerous for a skeevy Slytherin,' George agreed.

'Oh, it's not _my_ interest,' Harry said, emphatically, and saw the spark of interest grow brighter in Fred's eyes. 'It's for... ah... a _friend_.'

 _That's it, reel them in._

'And this friend, what does he want to do with dragons?' Fred asked casually. Harry shrugged slowly, exaggeratedly.

'Maybe he has an egg.'

The twins exploded, their careful interrogation thrown to the wind in their excitement.

'Harry! You can't be serious!?'

' _Where_ are you keeping it!?'

'What in Merlin's name are you going to _do_ with it!?'

'What _kind_ is it!?'

Harry stopped walking, smirking, as Fred and George continued to pepper him with questions, not letting him get a single word in. At last their realized their error, and they paused.

'Ah, Harry, apologies. Do say something,' Fred said graciously at last.

'My... _friend_... is in a touch over their head,' he said, wavering his voice just a touch, as if it were indeed himself that was hatching a dragon's egg in a tiny, wooden house. 'Perhaps that friend is now realizing that dragons are best left in the wild.'

'Well,' George said lowly, 'you could just let it... you know...' He made a harsh motion with his hands, and Harry shook his head.

'No, I won't let it die,' he said firmly, and then blushed. The twins grinned.

'Tell your friend we'd be happy to help, Harry,' Fred winked. George laughed. 'Just let us know when it gets to be too much. Er... too big?'

They headed up the stairs, laughing to each other.

* * *

Potter was hiding something. He always had somewhere else to be, and had not badgered him at all for chess matches or tea. He was also evading Minerva and Filius, who had remarked casually one day in the staff room that Potter must enjoy Potions more than they had accounted for. He had smirked but it was empty, for Potter wasn't coming to him for Potions tutorial – fake or otherwise.

Severus had tried cornering him, but it wasn't easy to intimidate a Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Potter had only smirked and told him that a friend needed him. But Potter wasn't out galavanting off the school grounds. Most evenings he could be found in the library with Draco and the Granger girl, or sitting with the Weasley twins in the Great Hall, or even coming in from visiting Hagrid. But spending a lot of time with friends who were – at least in appearance – closer to his own age, and the groundskeeper, hardly seemed suspicious.

To most. But Severus was not most, and Potter was definitely hiding something. Even though he knew Potter and Granger had been close as children, Severus could see Potter's eyes glaze over at times when Granger was speaking, and he had developed an interesting tic in response to when Draco was being particularly objectionable. He would look up and his hands would jerk suddenly to his eyes to rub them, as if he feared them rolling back into his head and falling out of his face if he didn't catch them. Being around children was trying enough when one was an adult with domain over them; no doubt it was particularly trying to attempt blending in amongst them without surrendering to the urge to throttle them repeatedly.

Potter was not afraid of him, but the same could not entirely be said of his godson. He called Draco to see him after class one day, and Potter stared at them as he left them alone in the room, filing out as slowly as he could without actually ceasing his shuffle. Draco was smirking as he watched his friend, but with a raise of his brow, Severus commanded his attention and the smirk vanished.

'What is Potter up to?'

Draco scowled.

'Why do you think he's up to something? Why can't _I_ be up to something?'

Severus kept his brow raised, and Draco squirmed.

'We're both up to something!' he blurted. 'But don't tell my father!'

'And if you are caught?'

Draco took a deep breath.

'We won't be.'

'It's not dangerous, is it?'

Draco grinned. Severus gave a long-suffering sigh and waved him off. Obviously, if Potter would not tell him, and Draco thought it was both dangerous and exciting, it was likely something only with the illusion of danger; a child's adventure.

* * *

'It bit me!' Draco wailed to Harry as he stumbled into their shared dorm room. His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, obviously one of Hagrid's. 'I can't believe I let you talk me into helping that bloody great-!'

But Harry had ripped the handkerchief off to examine the bite, and Draco's insult cut into another wail. It wasn't very deep, and blood oozed only half-heartedly out of the wound. But Harry remembered the poison.

'I'm sorry, Draco,' Harry said softly. 'This must really hurt.'

'Yes!' Draco agreed hotly. 'And your grotty _friend_ there told me off for frightening the bloody thing!'

What Harry had learned about Draco, was that what he wanted more than anything was to be believed, to be acknowledged, and to be held in esteem.

'Oh Hagrid,' Harry said under his breath as he cleaned Draco's wound best he could. The boy would still require an antidote or would likely suffer, as Ron had, for several days in the hospital wing.

'We'll get you fixed right up.'

'How?' Draco groused. 'You're good, but you're no medi-wizard.'

He had a point.

'Don't worry,' Harry said, feeling much more confident this time. 'I know a guy.'

* * *

Severus was at his wit's end. Potter stood before him with a tiny phial containing a greenish glob smeared along the inside, holding it up to the light so they could both inspect it.

'I need an antidote,' he said simply.

'To what, precisely?' Severus snapped, snatching the phial away and holding it up higher. It was some sort of venom, but from what, he could not tell. Nothing terribly common.

Potter sighed impatiently.

'Is it too much to ask?'

'You are clearly not suffering yourself,' Severus said severely. 'So either nobody had been poisoned, and there is no rush...'

'Or there is an unknown party in desperate need of an antidote,' Potter insisted, 'which would save him days of agony.'

 _Him_.

Severus thinned his lips, feeling his temper flare against his will.

'Where is he?'

'Who?'

'Draco, you prat!' Severus hissed. 'It is he who is poisoned, is it not?'

Potter looked irritatingly calm.

'I'm not sure what you're talking about.'

'There are ways to find a student in this castle, Potter. You will not hide an injured student – especially my godson – from me!'

'Severus, calm down, it's a mild toxin. We could clear it up on our own, but an antidote would be faster.'

Severus took a deep breath. He was still no closer to knowing what was going on. Where on earth would they find – and have Draco exposed to – a _mild_ venom?

'It will be ready in the morning,' Severus said stiffly. Perhaps he would be able to discover the source as he worked. Potter smiled brilliantly.

'Thanks! I'll swing by before breakfast!'

He practically skipped out the door.

* * *

'You!'

Snape whirled when he entered the classroom, seized him by the front of his robes and threw him into the wall. Harry's breath left him in a painful instant, and his vision greyed out for a moment as Snape poked his wand painfully into his neck.

'A _Norwegian Ridgeback_ , Potter!?'

Harry gasped for air, and Snape loosed his grip, stepping back to give him space. He coughed, trying to organize his thoughts. He had taken a gamble on whether Snape would be able to tell it was venom from a dragon; the fact he'd narrowed it down to exact species was amazing.

'Well,' he said, going for a breezy tone as he brushed down his robes, 'when you're good, you're good!'

'Enough!' Snape snapped. 'You will take me to Draco immediately.'

So Snape had noticed that Draco was missing from the Slytherin dorm. Harry felt a pang of sympathy for him.

'I can't,' Harry said, sighing. 'Draco is convinced not only is he going to die, but he's going to be expelled. You treating him in person will only send him into hysterics.'

'I have known Draco longer than you,' Snape growled. 'He will be fine!'

'Actually,' Harry said, his patience wearing thin, 'seeing as I have known him for longer than he's been alive at this point, I believe _I_ have known Draco longer. And he is absolutely a drama queen.'

Snape's face grew more pinched, but he did not say anything.

'And he will be fine, with the antidote. Hand it over.'

Harry held his hand out, palm open, and waited. Snape looked irate, his face flushing as he rummaged in his robes. As _if_ the man had misplaced it, Harry thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Once he had settled enough, it seemed, Snape placed a small, smoked glass jar onto Harry's outstretched palm.

'Apply it every hour until any swelling and discolouration fade,' he said woodenly, his voice too loud for his relatively calm demeanour. 'And then once every twelve for an additional two days.'

'I will see it done,' Harry swore, gripping the jar and holding it up in salute. He hurried away, before Snape could change his mind or catch him.

* * *

Draco responded immediately and wonderfully to Snape's antidote, and wisely did not ask where Harry procured it. The swelling dropped, and they were able to knit the small puncture closed with a basic healing charm. Fred and George had arranged with Charlie to meet them at the top of the Astronomy Tower on Saturday at midnight. With the invisibility cloak and Draco on their side this time, Harry felt the plan was foolproof.

At ten o'clock, Harry and Draco left the dungeons. As Harry steered them toward the staircase, Draco seized his arm and stopped him.

'It's a waste of time to get them,' he hissed after looking around.

'We need them,' Harry whispered back, though it was a lie. He and Hermione had managed – barely – to get Norbert up to the tower by themselves. It was Draco and the twins who were unnecessary.

But if Harry had learned anything from his first year at Hogwarts, it was that dangerous adventures and deadly near-misses brought friends closer together. He needed to cement his friendship with Draco. It would make both of their lives easier in the long run. The additions of Fred and George were an added bonus.

Draco made a face, but he made it silently, so Harry tugged him along up the stairs. They met Hermione and the twins just outside the painting of the Fat Lady, Hermione looking distinctly uncomfortable. The twins were agog over the invisibility cloak, and Harry had half a mind to silence them before they set off. But off they went, volume on, and Harry almost laughed out loud as they crossed the grounds in the dark. Hermione kept squeaking in dismay, having not broken quite enough rules to be as relaxed as she was the first time, and Draco constantly muttered in his ear about Granger being a liability, the dark being inconvenient, the damp being unpleasant, and so on. The twins kept bumping into everyone, apologizing in unison, and Harry figured they were probably doing it on purpose. It felt rather like herding kneazles, and Harry couldn't have been happier.

They arrived at Hagrid's hut, and pounded at the door. As the door opened, Harry pulled the cloak off of themselves, and the giant man ushered them inside. He had Norberta packed and ready in a large crate. Larger than Harry remembered. While Harry was positive they would be able to handle it, he now wasn't so positive they would all fit under the cloak.

'He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey,' Hagrid said in a muffled voice. 'An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely.'

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded as though they teddy was having his head torn off.

Fred guffawed loudly, but George clamped a hand over his mouth.

'Bye bye, Norbert!' Hagrid sobbed, and Harry felt it was definitely not the time to correct him on the dragon's sex. Harry and Hermione covered the crate in the invisibility cloak and as she stepped underneath it, Harry held up the edge for Draco and the twins. Draco gave Harry an agonized look and a groan before slipping underneath, as if he couldn't understand why he had allowed himself to be roped into this. Fred and George followed, each with a wink and a quick raise of both eyebrows, respectively. A quick assessment confirmed that indeed, Harry would not fit under the cloak with them.

'Mummy will never forget you!' Hagrid called as they hoisted the crate and carried it off into the darkness.

'Harry! You have to get under the cloak!' Hermione panted as they approached the school. 'Someone will see you!'

'I won't fit,' he grunted.

'Do you know any invisibility spells, Harry?' one of the twins asked.

'Don't be ridiculous, Weasley,' he heard Draco spit, and he really couldn't blame him for the use of their surname.

'Oi, young Harry is an enterprising young man,' the twin on the other side of the crate defended, 'and just because you don't know any spells like that doesn't mean they don't exist.'

'It's true!' Hermione sighed. 'There's one called a Disillusionment Charm!'

'We've been looking into it, of course,' said the first twin.

'Fine!' Draco snapped. 'It doesn't change the fact that Potter might not know it.'

'I do,' Harry said, apologetically. Draco gave an exasperated groan. Harry winced to himself as he cast it. There were sounds of sharply drawn breath from under the cloak; they had watched him. He was as invisible as they were, and just in time for them to climb the steps to the castle.

Midnight was ticking nearer as they heaved the crate up the stairs of the Astronomy Tower. It was lighter with the extra hands, but slightly more ungainly as the five of them fought for purchase on four sides. Harry tried not to think of the last time he had been on the Astronomy Tower. This was not the time. He was having fun, he would not ruin this.

'Nearly there!' Harry panted in encouragement.

Finally, they heaved the crate up into the cold night air, and Harry dropped his spell as the others pulled off the cloak. They stood in relative quiet, grinning like idiots at each other, listening to Norberta thrash around in her crate. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness.

Charlie's friends were a cheery lot, and quite good looking, if Harry had anything to say about it. As rugged and wiry as Charlie, they showed off the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norberta between them. They all helped buckle Norberta safely into it – Draco narrowly escaping another chomp from the dragon – and then they all shook hands, with several comments made about Fred and George being quite obviously related to Charlie. They thanked the team very much, and watched as they rose up on their brooms, perfectly coordinated, and carried Norberta off into the night.

Harry made a point of throwing the cloak over Hermione, Draco, Fred, and George himself, and getting them to tuck down the sides to be a perfectly invisible unit. Harry Disillusioned himself and struck out first down the stairs. But it was only four steps down that he crashed into a shadowy figure in the dark, and they both went tumbling down the stairs, a heap of limbs, with much shouting and yelling.

As they rolled to the bottom of the stairs, Harry pulled away to see Ron, bruised and flushed in the face, groaning as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. Footsteps and tense whispers followed behind them down the stairs. Harry cancelled his spell, shaking his head.

'Harry!' Ron gasped, just as Filch's face loomed suddenly out of the darkness. They both started, and the whispers and footsteps behind them silenced immediately.

'Well, well, well,' Filch whispered, 'we _are_ in trouble.'


	21. The Unicorn

**A/N:** Thanks to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her work as my beta reader. We're on track to actually finish this story!

This chapter will feature an extra amount of direct quotes from the original novel. All credit to J. , of course.

* * *

Things could have been worse.

Harry had been in dozens – no, hundreds – of situations worse than getting caught after curfew at Hogwarts. Yet when Filch took Harry and Ron down to Professor McGonagall's study on the first floor, he could not help the heavy stone that formed in his stomach. The others, it appeared, had escaped undetected, and Harry wondered vaguely about who would claim his cloak and whether they would return it to him. No doubt the twins already had plans to borrow it.

Ron looked ashen-faced and remained silent. Had he intended to catch them out as Draco had? Was he simply curious? Harry glanced towards Ron, catching his eye.

'So what's your story going to be?' he asked. Ron flushed, the pink on his cheeks standing out.

'I overheard Fred and George talking about a _dragon_ ,' he muttered, his voice quiet with disbelief. 'You weren't-'

'We were,' Harry said shortly, leaning back and looking pointedly over at the door. 'But you don't really think McGonagall is going to believe that?'

Ron looked away, frowning, his brows furrowed. It seemed as if he wasn't sure _he_ believed it, either.

'We need a story,' Harry hissed, leaning back towards him. 'That isn't too far-fetched and doesn't involve bloody _dragons_.'

Dragons would immediately implicate Hagrid. The man was already known for his affection for monstrous creatures. Any word of something as dangerous as a dragon in the castle would point fingers directly at Hagrid. He could be sacked or worse, with Harry and Ron cast as innocent victims instead of (mostly) willing participants.

'Fine,' Ron said shortly. 'We were duelling.'

Harry rolled his eyes, about to protest, but the door flew open and McGonagall came marching in, followed by Snape.

'Mister Weasley, Mister Potter,' McGonagall said, a hard edge to her voice. 'Mr Filch says the two of you were up the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. _Explain yourselves_.'

Harry stole a glance at Snape. He was glowering, his arms cross across his chest. Likely tired, as it was, indeed, one o'clock in the morning. But there was a hint of amusement in those eyes. Oh yes, Snape was enjoying seeing Harry stuck playing the recalcitrant pupil. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes as Ron stammered.

'P-please, Professor, we were just-'

'Duelling,' Harry said casually, leaning back. 'Ron here thought he could best me.' He looked up at McGonagall. Her eyes narrowed as her nostrils flared. 'I urged him to _try me_.' Harry glanced over at Ron, whose ears had gone quite red even as his face paled. He smirked, and did not look at Snape.

The blame would lie mostly with him, he anticipated. The smarter, more mature, highly gifted Slytherin, conning the poor, blustering Gryffindor out of bed in the dead of night to _fight_.

'Ridiculous!' McGonagall said. 'What a notion! First years duelling! You, Mr Potter, I thought you had more sense. As for you, Mr Weasley, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. You will both receive detentions-' she looked at Snape for confirmation, and he nodded once, '-as nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous – and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor.'

'Fifty?' Ron gasped. Gryffindor was already losing to Slytherin thanks to their loss in the Quidditch match. They could not afford the loss.

McGonagall looked pointedly at Snape.

'Fifty points also from Slytherin,' he spat, his eyes on McGonagall and not Harry.

Harry did his best to look disgruntled as Ron panicked next to him.

'Professor – please -'

'Get back to bed, the both of you.'

Ron rose, wobbly as if in a daze, and McGonagall coldly ushered him out. Snape seized Harry's shoulder and guided him after, steering him towards the dungeons as McGonagall sent Ron on his way to Gryffindor Tower.

'So what was this farce of a night truly about?' Snape asked tightly as they walked, at last alone.

Harry sighed.

'So there was this dragon...'

'The Norwegian Ridgeback, I assume?'

Harry grunted.

'We were simply assisting her travels to a safer and more fulfilling life.'

'I did not think you and Weasley were getting on so well,' Snape commented. Harry scoffed.

'He was following us.'

Snape stopped and waited for Harry to stop as well.

'Draco?'

Harry sighed, aggravated by Snape's persistence.

'Yes, and Hermione, and Fred, and George. There were also some burly dudes that flew in from Romania who met us on the tower to take her away. Anything else?'

Snape sneered.

'That will do.'

'Good,' Harry bit out. 'Now, if you don't mind, I'm a bit tired.'

He turned, wishing he had voluminous teaching robes to billow behind himself as he stalked away.

* * *

It was Draco who brought the cloak back to Harry. As soon as he and Ron had been dragged away, the rest had gone to Gryffindor Tower. Draco had seized control of the cloak, claiming housemate privileges, and had made it back to the Slytherin dormitory shortly before Harry. He had been displeased that Harry lost them points, but seemed satisfied that Gryffindor had lost the same.

'Too bad about the detention,' Draco said as they climbed into bed. 'I bet you have to serve it with the Weasel, too.'

The next days passed in a blur of studying and talking about the night with Draco and Hermione. They were keen to relive their moments of daring bravery and strength, and the shared memory kept their sniping comments to each other at an all time low. It wasn't until Harry received a missive over breakfast one morning that he remembered the detention.

 _Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight._

 _Meet Mr Filch in the entrance hall._

 _Prof. S. Snape_

Harry stiffened as he read the words. Quirrell. The unicorn. His eyes lifted, and he saw Draco reading the note over his shoulder.

'Bit ironic, isn't it? In trouble for breaking curfew and they make you break curfew for your punishment?'

Harry gave a hollow laugh as his eyes found Ron's across the hall. He looked troubled.

At eleven o'clock that night they met in the entrance hall. Filch was already there, and they said nothing to each other.

'Follow me,' said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

It struck Harry as odd, now, that their detention had been served in the Forbidden Forest in their first year. A place filled with dangers that many fully grown wizards would find difficult to manage. McGonagall had spoken of the dangers of the castle, and yet here they were, walking through a dangerous forest at night as punishment for walking around a dangerous castle at night. Draco was right.

'I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?' Filch said, leering at them. Ron looked uncomfortable, and he didn't even know what was coming, yet. 'Oh yes... hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me... It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out... hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed... Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do.'

They marched across the dark grounds, and Harry was sorely tempted to stun Filch just to get him to shut up. The moon was bright, and Harry thought briefly to Remus, and how he would be handling his transition this month.

'Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.'

Hagrid came striding towards them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

'Abou' time,' he said. 'I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Ron?'

'I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid,' Filch said coldly, standing up straighter as if to look Hagrid in the eye. 'They're here to be punished, after all.'

'That's why yer late, is it?' Hagrid said, frowning at Filch as he adjusted his quiver, looking down at Filch with distaste. 'Bin lecturin' them, eh?'

Harry wondered if Filch had been the caretaker in his parents' time, or even in Hagrid's. He seemed utterly timeless.

''S'not your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here.' Hagrid's chest puffed a bit, and Filch wilted.

'I'll be back at dawn, for what's left of them,' Filch said nastily, a last jab that turned Ron fairly white. He started back towards the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

'I'm not going in there!' Ron said at last, finding his voice.

'Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts,' said Hagrid fiercely. 'Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it.'

His expression softened when he looked at Harry. Clearly he blamed Ron for Harry getting caught.

'Now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment.'

Hagrid led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick, black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest. Harry could already see the splatter of silver blood on the ground, and a chill went through him that had nothing to do with the wind.

'Look there,' Hagrid instructed, 'see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.'

Ron looked horrified.

'It's too dangerous!' he said, his voice thin and high.

'There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,' Hagrid said. 'An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least.'

Ron looked significantly at Harry, and then at Hagrid. Harry sighed to himself. So much for Gryffindor bravery.

'I'll take Fang,' he offered. Hagrid beamed at him.

'Good man, Harry,' he said proudly. 'So me an' Ron will go one way, an' you and Fang go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practise now – that's it – an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh – so be careful – let's go.'

Harry marched by himself into the forest, relieved to be alone at last. No doubt Hagrid had heard enough about Harry's skills to feel confident in letting him go on alone, since even Hagrid would admit that Fang was gutless. He walked for what felt like ages, but resisted the urge to cast a _tempus_ charm. Glancing to the sky every so often, he could see the twinkle of a few stars, and the bright light of an unblinking planet through the heavy canopy of trees. There were no sparks to be seen.

He had just enough light to catch the various little splatters and drops of unicorn blood that he followed, though the path grew more and more difficult to follow. The drops came more frequently now, and there were splashes on the root of a tree, as though a struggle had occurred nearby. He crouched down as Fang's ears pricked at a sound somewhere deeper in the woods. Harry touched the blood. It was still damp.

He stood suddenly. Through the tangled branches of an ancient oak, he could see a clearing ahead, and something bright white was gleaming as it moved. _The unicorn was still alive_.

Unthinking, he crashed through the underbrush, Fang at his heels, towards the clearing. The unicorn swayed, silver blood dripping down numerous cuts on its body. Its head stayed low, barely turned towards Harry, its single horn shimmering in the dim starlight, eyes looking resigned and tired. Its back legs were bundled underneath it, and one of them was quite clearly broken.

'It's okay,' he whispered, coming to a stand still. He held out his hand. Fang hung back in the underbrush, silent and cowering. The unicorn remained where it was, so Harry inched forward. He had no idea if his magic could heal a unicorn, but he had to try. His eyes flicked around. So far, no sign of Quirrell.

The unicorn was quivering. He stepped forward again, and the unicorn lifted its head slightly and closed its eyes. It made no other movement. Harry held his breath. In this life he was a virginal boy with no blood on his hands, but that was certainly not the case in his other life.

'I'm here to help you,' he said softly, and one of the unicorn's ears twitched. He had no idea if it could understand him, but maybe just the sound of his voice would be soothing. 'I will stop him from hurting you.'

The unicorn's head went down again, and its front knees buckled. It slowly collapsed down as Harry rushed forward to catch it. He heard it sigh as his arms went around its neck, silver with blood that trickled out of a deep gash. The poor beast shivered in his arms as he withdrew his wand, but he shushed it and began chanting a basic healing charm as he traced the wound across its throat that oozed and bubbled blood and breath. It was the only charm he knew, other than _episkey_ \- and also taught to him by Hermione in his first year at the Auror academy.

The unicorn's breath was soft and shallow, its eyes wild as it looked around. It kept twitching, as if urged by instinct to flee him but unable to physically respond. Harry stroked its face, whispering the chant desperately, but to no avail. The blood kept coming. He stopped chanting then.

'Please,' he pleaded over and over as he rocked the unicorn. 'I'm sorry!' Harry sobbed, unable to control himself. He swept the mane hair from the unicorn's sad and panicked face, blood smearing all over his hands. He felt weak, his hands trembled, and he clung to the fading warmth of the creature in his arms.

It sighed, its eyes slowly closing, its body relaxing in death. Harry sobbed again, angered and confused by the grief that consumed him.

'No,' Harry whispered harshly, sniffing and irritatedly wiping the tears from his cheeks. 'You can't! _No!_ '

He shook the unicorn, still warm and limber with recent life, but it remained still.

A sob escaped him. He bent his head to the unicorn's, as more tears fell from his eyes. He had been so sure it would work. Why else would he have found it early, except to save it?

Fang whimpered, and the slithering sound of a cloak over leaves reached him from out of the darkness. His breath left him in a rush as he remembered the reason the unicorn had been killed in the first place. There were no witnesses to prevent Quirrell from killing him here. He shakily gripped his wand, his hand sticky with drying blood, looking around for his foe.

He couldn't help the cry that was wrenched from him as a pain like he hadn't felt in years tore through his scar. It sliced through his entire skull like a hot knife. Fang disappeared into the underbrush with a whine as a dark figure came into the clearing. The unicorn was a dead weight on Harry's lap, but he held it firm. His vision swam with pain. The figure he knew to be Quirrell raised his arm, a wand held aloft.

' _Expelliarmus!_ ' Harry cried preemptively, but Quirrell ducked to the side. He cast a shield as a curse came his way. It rebounded into the night. His grip faltered on the slippery, bloodied coat of the unicorn and he panicked in his distraction.

Another curse struck him in the shoulder, slicing flesh and searingly cold. It barely registered against the pain of his head, and he flung out whatever hex was on his mind. It missed.

But then there were hoofbeats behind him, galloping, and a centaur jumped past Harry and the unicorn, soaring towards Quirrell. The pain in his head surged, and his vision greyed as he opened his mouth in silent agony. He pressed his bloodied hands into his forehead until the pain gradually lessened. He groaned, wishing for a moment that he had just died instead. Pulling his hands away, he looked up.

'Harry Potter,' the centaur said, almost in wonder. 'The unicorn is dead, then.'

'Yes,' Harry said quietly, his voice thick and rough. His grief over the unicorn washed over him anew, and tears began to build. He did not try to hide it. Surely the centaur would know. 'But I don't understand...'

'It takes a dark soul not to mourn the loss of such an innocent life,' Firenze said, his voice mournful. 'And you bore witness to the loss.'

His hand landed heavily on Harry's shoulder, and Harry felt his despair lessen.

'Come. There is nothing you can do for her now.'

Harry stood, disentangling himself from the unicorn, his legs wobbly from the adrenalin rush. His head throbbed painfully. Quirrell was likely biding his time, waiting to get back to the unicorn for whatever blood was left. His robes were silver all down the front, and his hands were coated. He could feel the tightness of it drying on his face, too. Long hairs from the unicorn's mane were pasted to him in amongst the blood. He shuddered, and wrapped his arms around himself.

'Oh,' he said at last, remembering about the sparks. He pointed with his hand and green sparks shot into the sky. Firenze did not seem surprised.

'Can you ride? It will be quicker this way. My name is Firenze,' the centaur added, with a shrewd look at Harry.

'I know,' he admitted, but it did not seem to disturb or surprise the centaur. Harry took a shuddering breath and paused, a fresh wave of tears forcing him to his knees. He smothered his sob, his shoulder throbbing suddenly with the effort. With a surge of strength, he clambered up onto Firenze's back, and looked back at the unicorn, lying bloody and alone. It was like a punch to the gut, and he turned away quickly as Firenze started walking. It was not long until more hoofbeats announced the presence of other centaurs, as two more burst through the other side of the clearing.

'Firenze!' a wild, dark-haired centaur thundered. Was it Ronan or Bane? 'What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?'

Harry felt only indignation that they did not even notice that the unicorn was dead.

'Do you realize who this is?' Firenze countered. 'This is the Potter boy. The quicker he leaves this forest, the better.'

Bane – Harry decided – stared hard at Harry, as if he had never heard of Harry Potter in his life.

'What have you been telling him?' growled Bane, looking back to Firenze. 'Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?'

The other, Ronan, pawed the ground nervously.

'I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best,' he said, in a gloomy voice.

Bane kicked his back legs in anger.

'For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!'

Firenze suddenly reared onto his hind legs in anger, so that Harry had to grab his shoulders to stay on. His stomach lurched not from the movement, but from the tilt of his emotions.

'Do you not yet see who it is you are looking at, or what he has done?' Firenze demanded, pointing at Harry's robes. 'Or have the planets not let you in on this secret yet? Check the stars again, Bane.'

Firenze whisked around and, with Harry clutching on as best he could, they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them. Riding a centaur was unlike any other creature he had ever ridden – and would ride, again.

Firenze slowed to a walk as soon as they were out of earshot of the others, and warned Harry to keep his head bowed in case of low-hanging branches.

'What did you mean, _who it is you are looking at?_ '

They made their way through the trees in silence for so long after his question that Harry feared he would not answer. They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped.

'Harry Potter, how did you come to be here?'

Harry swallowed hard. He was going to assume there would be no bullshitting the centaur.

'There was a potions accident in my fl- in my home,' he said, stammering like a first year. 'I woke up in my eleven year old body.'

'You already know the course of events that are occurring, then,' Firenze said firmly, as they set off again. 'Even more than we centaurs do.'

Harry let that reality soak in to his skin for a moment.

'Yes. For now.'

'Then I will wish you wisdom instead of luck,' Firenze said softly. 'As it is easy to become overconfident when you already know the outcome. Or think you do.'

''Arry! All right, there, 'Arry?' Hagrid said urgently, moving swiftly down the path towards them as he followed Fang, Ron struggling to keep up behind them. Harry slid off Firenze's back, and Ron stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Harry and his bloody robes.

Firenze turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry shivering behind him. The night grew very dark, very suddenly then, and the ground rushed up to meet him.


	22. Thirteen

**A/N:** We're getting to the home stretch, everyone! Continued thanks to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her work as my beta reader. Things would not be getting done so quickly, or at all, without her effort.

* * *

'There's not much else I can do for him here, Hagrid,' Harry heard Madam Pomfrey say. 'I need to get him back up to the castle.'

A blanket – likely conjured – was draped around his shoulders. As he opened his eyes, a small bottle was immediately put to his mouth. Pressure was applied and he tipped his head back, letting the potion fill his mouth and slide down his throat. He felt the familiar buoyancy of Pepper-Up fill him for an instant as steam poured out his ears, but it was gone in a moment, leaving him empty.

Madam Pomfrey helped him sit up the rest of the way, lying as he was on Hagrid's bed, and tucked the blanket around him.

'Come along then, Potter,' she said with forced brightness, as it was surely quite late now since they had met for detention at eleven o'clock. She made to lift Harry under his arm, but Hagrid stepped up.

'I'll take 'im,' he said gruffly. She looked surprised, but acquiesced, patting down her robes and moving to exit the hut.

She paused at the door to say, 'I believe the Headmaster will still want to see him.'

Harry looked down at his hands, dull grey with dried blood, hairs still glued between his fingers.

The door closed.

'Yeh shouldna' seen that,' Hagrid said quietly, his voice mournful. 'I figgered it'd be dead already.'

'I know,' Harry said softly. 'It should have been.'

Whether Hagrid was confused or not by Harry's words, he said nothing. He merely sighed, a wavering sound full of unspoken things. Then he coughed and cleared his throat, sniffing loudly.

'Right then. Up ter school.'

He picked Harry up, without giving him a moment to object, and left the hut, unbothered by Harry's weight. He was silent, which was strange but not unwelcome, given the circumstances.

'You said we might have to put it out of its misery,' Harry said at last, huddled against Hagrid's chest for warmth in the cool night air. Hagrid huffed.

'Jus' bluffin',' he said softly. 'Wanted ter give Ron a scare, is all. I wouldna'...'

Harry nodded, and Hagrid left it at that.

He marched Harry, awkward but determined, right to the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office, muttering about protecting him from _that blasted cat_. Almost the second his feet touched the floor, the gargoyle burst into life and sprang aside, revealing Dumbledore.

'Harry!' he said, in apparent relief. 'Thank you, Hagrid.'

Hagrid gave Harry a sad smile, Dumbledore a nod, and departed. Dumbledore guided Harry's blanketed shoulders up the stairs, and pushed him gently into a chair.

'It is unfortunate your detention went the way it did,' he said gently. He waved his wand and a tea tray appeared, revolved twice, and set down soundlessly on the desk. Dumbledore poured the tea, milking and sugaring Harry's, and made sure Harry's hands were both firmly gripping the cup before he let it go.

Dumbledore's eyes raked Harry, but he was too exhausted to care, even with hot tea flooding his system. He even accepted a biscuit.

'Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?' Dumbledore asked at last. Harry looked down, avoiding his eyes. He nodded.

'It is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,' Dumbledore continued, his voice severe as he echoed Firenze. 'They are so innocent, so pure, that the devastation of their death is absolute. It is an act of great evil.'

Harry looked up, feeling his eyes sting.

'Is that why I can't seem to stop crying?' He swiped at his tears, frustrated. 'It feels-' he sniffed loudly. 'It feels so-'

'Yes, Harry,' Dumbledore said sadly. 'It will affect you for some time.'

Harry coughed, and tears fell from his eyes.

'Had Hagrid found the unicorn still alive, he would have handled it himself,' Dumbledore reassured him.

'I know.'

Dumbledore leaned back suddenly, as if trying to physically hold back something he wanted to say.

'There is a bathroom on the fifth floor where you should clean yourself up before bed,' he instructed at last, reaching for some parchment and a quill as he cleared his throat. 'Fourth door to the right of the statue of Boris the Bewildered, do you know the one?'

Dumbledore handed Harry a note – some sort of hall pass, he supposed – and Harry nodded. He had used it during his tenure as Quidditch Captain, after all, as well as to figure out the egg clue from the Triwizard Tournament.

'Very good,' Dumbledore said with an encouraging smile. 'Why don't you get cleaned up before bed, then? The password is _Patchouli_.'

Harry nodded again, standing and shuffling out of Dumbledore's office, his blanket clutched tightly around himself. His shoulder throbbed, and he wondered vaguely why Madam Pomfrey hadn't healed it. _There's not much else I can do for him here_ , she had said. As the gargoyle shifted back into place, he debated as to whether to go to the hospital wing or the bathroom. His shoulder wasn't so bad, he decided. Bathroom it was.

* * *

The prefect's bathroom seemed so far away. While he appreciated the gesture of goodwill from Dumbledore, Harry was exhausted. He only shared a room with Draco, so he figured the chances of being discovered, covered in unicorn blood, by someone who wouldn't understand were slim.

Harry slipped into the dorm bathroom, making very sure not to wake Draco, slumbering peacefully behind his closed curtains. He stripped off his bloody robes, and stared at his left forearm. His Dark Mark tattoo wasn't present on his eleven-year-old arm. It was pale and unmarked by ink and violence. Such a shame, he thought, now that he finally deserved it. He had killed before, but without intent. Voldemort had been unavoidable. He would have been celebrated for the act, even if he had used the Killing Curse. Quirrell had died, he supposed, but that was more a side effect of harbouring Voldemort, really.

 _But now he had thirteen to his name._

Kinglsey's words came back to him now as he stared at himself in the mirror.

'It was a terrible, yet unavoidable circumstance,' he repeated to himself. He hadn't believed it nine months ago, and he certainly didn't believe it now.

He ran his hand up and down his left forearm, finding its flawlessness disconcerting, his silvered hand raising gooseflesh as it went.

He drew a bath. The water was tepid, but he sunk down into the bath with a shiver. He was too tired to warm it up. His body needed this tension.

He scrubbed his hands, and up his forearms together under the water, turning it grey. The motion felt good. It roused him, shook the cloudiness from his mind as he scrubbed harder. The water sloshed violently. He lifted his hands up to see them, and this time it was human blood that flowed down his arms, staining the water around his belly a deep red. The cuts on his arms gaped mockingly at him, and he plunged his forearms into the water, running his fingertips back and forth over the wounds. How had that happened? The pain was harsh and strong, cutting through his fog sharply. He was there, present, in the cold bathwater. Never mind. _How_ didn't matter.

The bathroom tilted a bit. He shook his head. The fog was coming back. He thought he heard something, and saw his wand had clattered to the floor, rolling away across the floor. The room tilted again, and his vision went out of focus. He blinked. A darkness was creeping in at the edges of his world. The water was too red.

 _Too red._

Lifting his arm out of the bath, he saw his life force pouring out of him. His mouth went dry and the darkness pushed in. His eyes closed.

He opened his eyes to screams. Hermione, twenty-eight and pregnant, was limp against the open door, hysterical, as Ron came to bandage his arm sloppily with towels, holding it up awkwardly out of the water. There was a foul taste in his mouth. Hermione wailed instructions, and Ron adjusted. He looked pale. Harry felt weak. The water was opaque with red. His head felt empty.

'Ron,' he breathed, the effort draining him instantly. 'Ron what are you doing here?'

He pawed weakly at him as Hermione screamed again.

'Hermione,' Harry called. 'I'm sorry...'

Ron pulled him out of the water with his arms and legs and back. Hermione sobbed as she covered his wet body with a blanket from his chesterfield. Exhausted, Harry let his eyes fall shut again as they manhandled him out the door.

* * *

Harry woke in a bed he did not recognize. His eyes felt scratchy, and his tongue was practically glued to the roof of his mouth. It tasted wretched. He pushed himself up against the pillows, then withdrew his arms from the sea of blankets.

Scarred. Nine fresh, pink scars ran across his left forearm now, similar to his adult body. Thirteen on his other arm.

 _Thirteen dead_ , the headline had read.

Harry felt empty. The reminder was permanent now.

The door opened, and Snape stepped into what Harry now recognized as Snape's bedroom. He wore an unreadable expression as he approached the bedside, holding a tray. He waited for Harry to adjust himself, and then placed it over his lap. It looked to be a bowl of porridge, fried eggs, sausages, a glass of juice, and a potion.

'Blood replenisher,' Snape said. 'Drink that first.'

Harry did as he was instructed, and almost dropped the bottle when Snape sat down on the bed by his legs.

'Sir,' Harry asked, out of habit, placing the bottle carefully on the tray, 'why am I here?'

'Because I found you half-drowned in a tub full of your own blood,' Snape said tersely, his eyes carefully reading Harry's face. 'You seemed to be having some sort of...'

'Flashback,' Harry said softly in recognition. 'It was a flashback.'

'You called me _Ron_ ,' Snape sneered, though there was no ill-intent behind it. Harry rubbed his forearms briskly.

'I didn't... mean to,' Harry tried saying, but his throat was so dry, he could only mouth the words. He grabbed for the juice. Snape met his eyes, his expression completely unreadable.

'I don't...' he tried again.

'I do,' Snape said tersely. 'You were sent to bed, exhausted, after an emotionally traumatic event, without Dreamless Sleep.'

'It's addicting,' Harry said. He had been trying to keep away from it at Snape's insistence, and focusing on clearing his mind. It didn't always work.

'But sometimes necessary,' Snape said firmly. 'You are not the typical case, I have found.'

'I'm a basket case,' Harry snorted. Snape did not seem to enjoy his humour.

'You will stay in this bed today,' he ordered. 'A house elf will bring you your meals.' At Harry's petulant look, he added, 'Unless you'd prefer the hospital wing, and a visit from Albus?'

Harry sighed.

'I still don't understand,' he said weakly, rubbing his eyes. 'How did I...?'

'We will discuss this another time,' Snape said shortly, pulling out another potion and handing it to Harry. Dreamless Sleep. 'You will finish your breakfast, and then you will take your potion. If you leave this bed for any reason without consulting me, expect severe consequences. Understood?'

Harry sighed, and nodded. He was still so tired.

Snape left him, and Harry picked away slowly at his breakfast until he was finished. His strength had not returned yet, so he pushed the tray to other side of the bed. He downed the potion quickly before he could think too hard about it. His eyes drifted shut then, and he fell back asleep.

* * *

There was no way to explain it to Albus - or anyone, for that matter – that wouldn't involve either the truth about Potter or a trip to St. Mungo's for the boy. So Severus swept it under the rug the best he could, promising himself that next time there wouldn't _be_ a next time. Potter had to be protected, and apparently, that included from himself. He had been alerted to the disastrous nature of the detention that night by Poppy at half-two in the morning, who had been expecting Potter so she could deal with his injured shoulder. A freezing hex, she had said, in addition to Potter bearing witness to the slaughter of a unicorn. _How had Severus not been informed?_ The thought still made him irate.

He had tracked the foolish man-child down to the Slytherin dormitory, where Potter was bathing himself in icy water, the water completely red with his own blood. It had been all he could do not to shout in alarm. Then the idiot had mumbled on about _Ron_ and _Hermione_ as Severus scrambled to get the naked child's body out of the tub, clearly out of his mind. Perhaps the cutting had not even been intentional.

The cuts had proven to be the act of a basic cutting charm, not the Dark magic that Severus feared. Easily healed. The scars would be gone in a week with a salve.

Severus watched in methodical silence as his third year students brewed Shrinking Solution. It helped him focus on the Potter Problem. Something had happened. Potter was on medical leave. There was the chest armour he had to wear to keep pain at bay. The tremor in his adult hands, but not his young ones.

Potter had nine scars on his left forearm in his Aged body, he remembered. Potter had given himself nine cuts on his left arm last night. He remembered watching Potter de-Age himself. The last scar had disappeared with the first drop. Potter's former fiancé had also been murdered in front of his eyes only months ago. The rest of the scars had disappeared at drops six to eleven, inflicted, then, at ages seventeen to twenty-two. They represented the ones he had lost. But thirteen cuts on his other arm, what could they represent?

Potter's cold words from the night Severus dosed him with Veritaserum came back to him: _What is it you want to know, Severus? How I_ killed _Voldemort? How many_ died _to protect me? How many I've killed_ since? As Severus took five points from Hufflepuff for a disastrous orange potion, he arrived at his hypothesis: thirteen.


	23. Tell Me

**A/N:** This chapter contains an integral scene that can only be found on AO3 under my same username and title. There wasn't a good, simple way to edit it, so I simply removed it. Unfortunately, it's also a key piece of the story. Thank you to my fabulous beta reader, TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3), for her outstanding work on whipping this story into shape!

CW: Extra warning for dubious / convoluted consent here (in the cut scene on AO3).

* * *

Thirteen dead. Killed, Snape supposed. He doubted Potter had murdered them. As hardened as he was, _murderer_ seemed an unlikely descriptor for the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. One only had to look at his arms to witness his conscience in action. If it had been an accident – perhaps an act of necessity – then it would explain Potter's trauma. It would explain the medical leave. It might even explain Matthew Samson's death and Potter's physical injuries.

It was evening by the time Potter finally woke. An alarm chimed, and Severus threw open the door to his bedroom, belatedly thinking that, perhaps, Potter might need a moment of privacy. But as he filled the doorway, refusing to back down with his glower, he only met Potter shuffling to the bathroom, giving him an owlish look.

'I have to piss,' Potter said irritably. 'Don't you have a class to loom over?'

As he shut the door to the bathroom behind himself, Severus groused, 'it is almost seven.' He could not help it. The words snapped out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Potter's face was pale, but his usual dark circles were not bad after sleeping all day, and he hadn't glamoured his face, so he must have thought himself bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Severus lurked in the doorway, waiting for Potter to crack, but the crack didn't come.

'Am I allowed to stay up?' Potter asked drily, barely managing to hold back his smirk. He carried himself with an air of casualness that belied the previous day's events. Severus frowned.

'Yes. You should eat.'

Severus stepped aside to let Potter out into the rest of his quarters, and he sat at the small table. Then he glanced at Severus in uncertainty.

'I'm assuming you meant here?'

Severus sneered, but summoned a house elf nonetheless, who returned shortly with a tray bursting with sandwiches, sliced veg, fruit, and a flagon of pumpkin juice.

As Potter dug into the sandwiches, Severus sat down across from him slowly. Potter ignored him.

Severus took out a small, smoky glass jar and placed it on the table top with a delicate tap. He then placed his elbows on the table, laced his fingers together and placed his chin on them, pointedly looking at Potter. Looking up, Potter played innocent.

'What,' he said stupidly, his mouth full, spraying crumbs across his place. Severus' jaw tightened. _Patience_.

'This is a salve,' he said slowly, 'for your arms.' Potter froze, and Severus mirrored him. It was the elephant in the room Potter had been all too happy to ignore since waking, and that Severus had been trying so carefully to manoeuvre around. The thread connecting them was tenuous at best.

'This will cause the scars to fade away,' Severus said, reaching for Potter's arm. Potter stared, transfixed, staying motionless as Severus pushed up his sleeve, exposing thirteen healed cuts. Severus tried to be brief, touching Potter's skin as little as possible. But he saw the flicker in the boy's eyes. He saw the gooseflesh. He then took Potter's other arm and pushed up the sleeve, revealing the other nine.

'I take it these numbers have some significance to you,' Severus said slowly, placing Potter's exposed arms on the table top. Potter remained still, staring hard at his arms, his eyes unfocused, steadfastly avoiding eye contact with Severus. His hands continued to hold Potter's arms, applying slight pressure to keep them flat on the table, and Potter offered no resistance. He did, however, work his mouth around as if to speak. He said nothing.

Pressing on, Severus continued.

'I believe you were having a flashback,' Severus said, finally withdrawing his hands. Potter recoiled instantly, swiping his sleeves down and quickly taking up another sandwich.

'You called for Miss Granger and Mr Weasley,' Severus pushed. 'Your memory includes them.'

Potter set his sandwich down, looking as though it were not sitting well in his stomach. He swallowed hard.

'Yes,' he said at last, his voice low. Severus watched him curl in on himself; arms wrapping around his midsection, shoulders leaning forward, his gaze not leaving the table's surface.

'What sort of memory was it?'

'What do you think?' Potter spat suddenly. Defensively. Severus felt the rush of victory. Anger was better than denial.

Potter's posture mimicked someone with an abdominal injury of some kind; perhaps a wound, perhaps a broken rib. Potter was guarding, protecting himself from where Severus was poking him. Protecting himself from the past.

'You told me you didn't mean it. Was this in reference to what you did yesterday, or what you did in the memory?'

Potter relaxed slightly.

'Both,' he sighed, giving a hollow laugh.

Severus leaned across the table, stretching his hands further than he was comfortable. But he had to know. Had to keep the thread going. If Potter needed to reach for him to keep the thread from snapping, so be it.

Potter's eyes found his hands, as he knew they would. He was so desperate for connection – physical, emotional, _anything_ – it was pathetic. His eyes widened briefly, and then flicked up anxiously to Severus' face, as if he had heard his thoughts. Then, slowly, his gaze turned inward, far away.

'I was put on leave from work.'

Severus almost held his breath and remained as still as he could possibly manage. After his time as a spy, one of his most crucial skills had simply been to just shut up and wait. It was not the most difficult task, but this instance felt vastly more important than most.

'I had been cutting for years,' Potter admitted softly, bitterly. He raised his left arm, smoothed back the sleeve, and ran his fingers down the inside of his forearm where his nine thin scars lay.

'Why,' Severus prompted quietly.

'So many dead,' Potter breathed. 'So many because of me.'

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Potter slid his sleeve back down and sighed.

'After Matthew, I had to add one more.'

Samson. Who was killed by Death Eaters only seven months ago, by Potter's count.

Potter looked pensive as he focused on his memory. He frowned.

'I usually used a knife, but I couldn't find it. It had been too long. I decided to use my wand.'

He paused. Severus dared to push again.

'What spell did you use?'

He knew already. It was written all over Potter's face.

' _Sectumsempra_ ,' he whispered.

Severus stiffened. The urge to yell, to lash out at Potter's stupidity reared its ugly head inside Severus. He restrained it, but doing so only filled him with more rage.

' _Are you-_ ' he ground out, almost against his will, but stopped himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He pulled his hands back across the table, slowly exhaling through pursed lips. Opening his eyes, he saw Potter staring at him.

'Do it,' Potter whispered.

Severus needed no prompting. He plunged into Potter's mind, the threads of memories blowing aside as he swept through, directed by Potter's personal transparency. _There._

The memory unfolded before him in an instant.

Potter in the tub, the water red.

Weasley and a very pregnant Granger bursting in to save him.

Granger screaming.

Weasley pulling Potter out of the tub with his arms and legs and back, forgetting about his wand and magic altogether.

Granger screaming.

Severus withdrew, then. He was back at his kitchen table, rigid in his chair, face to face with Potter in his eleven-year-old body. The water had been _so_ red, _too_ red. Severus knew that his friends had come just in time. It had almost been too late.

'You almost died!' he shouted, unable to contain himself. His fists were balled with both fear and rage. Potter's eyes shut, and he swallowed thickly.

'Believe me, they did not let me forget it.'

Severus took a deep breath. Potter's trauma was understandable. The entire memory was tinged with fear and guilt. It reminded him intensely of many of the dark, troubling thoughts he had entertained after betraying the Potters to the Dark Lord, and especially after Lily's death. The dark thoughts he entertained even now, having learned the Dark Lord would return, and that he would not outlive him.

'Tell me about the thirteen, Potter.'

He expected a reaction; rage, perhaps; grief; even denial. But Potter didn't react at all. It was if he hadn't heard Severus at all.

'Potter.'

'I should go,' Potter said abruptly, standing.

'Tell me about the thirteen.'

'Thank you,' Potter said sincerely, 'for your help.' But his eyes were hard, almost glaring. Severus felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Even in a child's body, Potter had an intense presence.

'Potter.'

Severus made to stand, to follow Potter and prevent him from leaving, but he could not get up from his seat.

'Potter! What have you done!?'

But Potter only gave him a cold look and left.

Severus was thankful he kept his wand on his person at all times. It made undoing Potter's sticking charm simple. But he also felt an indignant flare of anger that he had required his wand to undo a spell Potter had cast without even speaking.

He hadn't seen hide nor hair of Potter all weekend. Potter had become more of a ghost than the spirits that inhabited the castle. He ducked into class the moment it began, neither early nor late. Severus never actually witnessed leaving; he blended himself into the crowd of students and was carried out - one mess of black hair amongst the masses. He did nothing in class to draw attention to himself, and Severus did not trust himself enough to call on him in front of witnesses. A week went by. His frustrations mounting, he snapped, 'Potter, stay behind!' as the class packed up to leave the next Monday. The door at last closed, but Potter had whipped it open immediately and left.

The next day, it was the same.

'Potter, stay behind!'

This time, he said, 'you never said how long I had to stay, sir,' over his shoulder as he left.

* * *

But Potter was impossible to find outside of class, too. He tried summoning him to his office hours, but his notes were returned - unopened - by confused and irritated owls. Without going to Albus to get assistance in pinning him down, he was rapidly running out of options, and exams would be starting soon. Not to mention Quirrell skulking around the third floor at all hours.

When Potter started using his incredibly powerful disillusionment charm to slip out of class, Severus gave up. He was distracted enough by his end-of-term work and had much better things to focus on than catering to Potter's fragile sense of self. Too proud to continue to be bested by his apparent pupil, Severus let him be in class.

He hatched a plan, instead. A Slytherin plan. Draco was too suspicious; he would want to know details. But Granger was another story. He had planned to hold her back after class on Friday, but to his great advantage, she had marched up to his desk herself, without prompting.

As the rest of the class filed out, he had gladly given his attention to the Granger girl regarding her latest essay. He even took it easy on the criticism, which – to be fair – wasn't all too heavy to begin with for the bright, young witch. She was insufferable, to be sure, but at least she knew the difference between mugwort and wormwood. After awkwardly assuaging her feelings of inadequacy, Severus broached a new topic.

'Miss Granger, I can't help but notice that you are friends with Mr Potter,' he began. She tinged pink and gripped her books tighter.

'Yes,' she admitted.

'He has agreed to take an extra-credit examination, at random. I need you to get Mr Potter to agree to meet you in the Entrance Hall this evening.'

'What for?' Granger asked, worriedly.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. She was making this almost not worth it.

'You do not need to meet him there, Miss Granger. I will be meeting him there, to administer the random exam. If he knows he is meeting me, he will be forewarned and will have time to prepare.'

She looked exceedingly disappointed. Perhaps he should not have reminded her of Potter's ' _brilliance_ ' by implying he was going to receive higher marks.

'Eight o'clock?' she asked, voice despondent.

'Nine.'

She did not protest, despite it being the curfew cut off. At his dismissive wave, she turned on her heel and left. Severus heaved a sigh. If Potter was not there this evening, he would be irate.

But Potter _was_ there. He had no idea what cock and bull story Granger fed him, but Potter was there, emerging from under his damned invisibility cloak beside the stairs at precisely nine. He looked up the stairs, presumably for Granger, but Severus had already seized him by the arm from behind.

'Hey!' Potter protested, albeit quietly. But Severus was able to pull him back down into the dungeons with little resistance, magical or otherwise. He dragged Potter into his quarters, thrusting an ageing potion at him as he headed into his kitchen to fetch a bottle of Odgen's Finest and two tumblers.

Potter's eyes widened, but then darkened.

'You are in the body of a _child_ ,' Severus hissed venomously as he put the glasses on the counter and unscrewed the bottle. 'You don't even hold your liquor well as an adult, and it would be rather disconcerting to dose an eleven-year-old with whisky.' He purposefully poured two fingers of firewhisky into each glass.

Potter knocked back the contents of the phial without another moment of hesitation. He spelled his robes larger as he grew in age but then he grimaced, leaning to one side as he reached his full adult age, gripping the counter beside him until his knuckles went white.

Severus rolled his eyes at Potter's impetuousness, going to the bathroom to fetch a pain relief potion.

'I'm not entirely sure how you survived long enough to become Head,' Severus commented as he returned, putting the potion down in front of Potter, 'when you cannot plan ahead adequately.'

Potter gave a guttural laugh as he downed the second potion, making a face and muttering his thanks. A moment later, he relaxed, the potion working efficiently, as Severus knew it would.

Severus put his hands on the counter and leaned into them with his elbows locked. He was nervous. The set of his shoulders was tense and he was trying to hide it. He saw Potter swallow hard. Severus felt his own mouth go dry.

'Drink,' he said, to fill the silence.

Potter only stared at him. Sighing, Severus sipped his own drink, put it back on the counter, and then swapped their glasses, taking a large swallow from Potter's.

'There's nothing in them,' he bit out. Potter exhaled strongly; not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. He took up the glass in front of him and drank deeply, examining the contents closely as he swished the whisky around his mouth. He then swallowed, fixing Severus with a glare. Their eyes remained locked as they continued to drink, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the mantle and the gentle tap as their glasses found the counter.

* * *

It was inexplicable. Drinking with Snape. It didn't take a genius – child or otherwise – to figure out that Hermione had been used. And for what? A drink? It hadn't been laced with anything, so there was that, at least. He noted that Snape was halfway through his glass.

'Tell me about the thirteen, Harry.'

Hearing his first name in Snape's voice was so jarring, the words almost didn't register. He scoffed, and shook his head, taking a deep drink. That was one topic they would not – could not – discuss. Snape narrowly avoided rolling his eyes fully, and half-heartedly shrugged to himself as he took a drink and then looked over at Harry.

'Fine.'

Something in his eyes shifted. His stare was less intense, more...

 _Oh_.

Snape was suddenly very close. Harry could feel the heat from his body, though they weren't quite touching. He was holding his drink, and knocked back the last of the whisky deliberately. Harry watched Snape's throat move as he swallowed. The man slowly put the glass on the counter, snaking an arm around Harry's waist and pulling him close.

* * *

 **A/N:** I highly encourage you - if you are a mature reader - to find the rest of this chapter on AO3, under my same username and title. You can probably get through the rest of the story without it, though. Cheers!


	24. Missing in Action

**A/N:** Thank you, once more, to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her help in getting me through this marathon. We're on the home stretch, now!

* * *

Potter had never been able to avoid Severus so completely before. By all accounts, he was still inside the castle, yet Draco had come to report him missing on Sunday morning. He explained that Potter had not returned to their dorm since Saturday morning. Severus had assured his godson that Potter would be present to sit his exams, but he felt like that was a promise he could not honestly make. No wonder Potter had risen through the ranks of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement so quickly. If he did not want to be found, he simply wasn't.

He tried not to focus on their last interaction, or the information he'd gleaned from it. But during quiet moments between classes, or when his colleagues saw fit not to speak to him during meals, his mind wandered. Potter could have killed him in the toilets at Hallowe'en. That much had been obvious.

But he hadn't.

Potter had the carriage of someone with too much power. He obviously tried hard to act as childlike as possible, but he could only shrink so small. He wasn't threatened by Severus – or anyone else in the castle – because he could kill them in a literal instant, and he seemed physically incapable of acting like he couldn't. Severus had seen that power and the confidence that came with it in just one other person: The Dark Lord.

Potter's saving grace was that he was tempered by an enormous burden of guilt. It rounded his shoulders. It roused him at night. It cast shadows under his eyes that had nothing to do with his poor sleep. Severus understood, at last, how deep those depths went, but he suddenly felt vastly under-qualified; he had never killed someone like that. He had betrayed, he had brewed and crafted, but no, he had never outright killed. On top of everything else, Potter had been dealt an impossible hand, both in his first life and now his second. Of course he was a wreck.

Of course he had run.

Exams were starting, though, and as much as Potter could likely pass them with his eyes closed and his wand snapped, he had to at least be present. Severus did not have hours to track Potter down. When his best efforts went nowhere, he still had his exams to prepare. He also felt the obligation to keep an eye on Quirrell, who had been acting quite skittish, indeed. With Potter's mental state in question and his location unverifiable, Severus knew it could fall to him to defend the Stone. He was considering this Sunday evening as he organized his exam papers for the coming morning, when there was a knock at the door.

His stomach clenched. Adrenaline flooded his system. He had no concept of how to act around Potter, the most likely candidate to knock on his door at half ten on the Sunday night before exams.

'Come,' he directed, at last finding his voice.

The door opened a crack, and Albus' face appeared.

'A moment, Severus?'

Severus almost laughed in relief. As much as he needed to find Potter, he was not ready for that conversation just yet. He leaned back in his chair.

'Of course.' He gestured amiably to the chair opposite, and Albus conjured a blasted tea tray – because of course he did – as he came in. They sat in silence for a moment, serving themselves tea and biscuits from Albus' tray.

'Severus, the Philosopher's Stone…'

Albus paused, frowning, as if at a loss for words, which was certainly unusual. Holding his tea halfway to his mouth, Severus froze, his heart pounding. Was this why Potter was missing? Had he gone for the Stone early? Had he been discovered, somehow, by the Headmaster? He could see his tea cup shaking in his peripheral vision, but to steady it would be to draw attention. Albus seemed oblivious.

'The Philosopher's Stone is being held here for a very specific reason.'

Narrowing his eyes, Severus moved once more, sipping his tea slowly, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. He had a feeling that the reason had everything to do with his missing 'student'.

'I know you have been watching Quirinus for some time now – as have I – but I must ask that you do not interfere.'

Severus put his teacup down and fixed the headmaster with a glare.

'To what point and purpose, Albus? He must be stopped. Especially if he is in league with the Dark Lord, as you suspect,' _and as Potter had confirme_ d, he mentally added.

Albus sighed, looking down at his own cup.

'I ask only that you trust me, Severus.'

'Fine,' he ground out. In his other life, they had likely held a similar conversation. He wondered, briefly, how it had gone. Had his other self been perturbed by Albus' insistence? Had he accepted it at face value? Had he wondered at all about whom Albus _intended_ to interfere?

'Excellent,' Albust said, abruptly standing and dusting biscuit crumbs off his beard and the front of his robes. 'I expect you still have much to ready for tomorrow.'

Severus looked as affronted as he could.

'You have mistaken me for Sybil again, Albus.'

Albus gave him a mock stern look, but snorted nonetheless, his eyes twinkling damnably.

'Yes, I suppose I have.'

Chuckling to himself, the headmaster left. The moment the door closed, Severus banished the ridiculous tray.

* * *

It hadn't been difficult to avoid Snape, really. He relied heavily on his invisibility cloak, but he also used a complicated ward that threw off tracking spells. Any of the staff would be able to tell he was still in the castle, but they wouldn't be able to tell _where_.

Harry didn't want to see that look in Snape's eyes. The same look that had taken up residence in Ron's eyes, and in Kingsley's eyes. He'd seen it in the eyes of his team after he blew up his office. The distrust, nervousness, and fear. As if he were a crystal phial full of a class seven poison. Deadly, contained by a fragility that made him absolutely dangerous.

He made it to his first exam exactly on time, sliding into the seat next to Draco with only a glance at his friend. Draco stared, agape, only looking away when the exam was put down in front of him on the desk with a new quill. His face was flushed against his blonde hair, and Harry wasn't sure if it was from anger or joy. He hadn't been fair to his fellow Slytherin at all. But his scar had been prickling nonstop, and the nightmares featuring Voldemort, dead unicorns, and people dying in front of him had kept him awake most nights. It was best to stay away, sleeping fitfully in the Owlery.

The practical in the afternoon saw them make a pineapple tap dance across Professor Flitwick's desk. At last, Harry pulled out all the stops. Or, at least, most of them. His pineapple danced around the whole desk twice, and then finished with a flip. Professor Flitwick had jubilantly applauded before schooling himself. For Professor McGonagall, he turned a mouse into a snuff box decorated with cats chasing butterflies in continuous motion. For Professor Sprout, he re-potted a Sugar Shrub in a loam mixture, and used the best seaweed compost – the Sugar Shrub's favourite. The plant had trembled in delight, and Professor Sprout had beamed.

But then came the Potions exam. The written portion wasn't terrible; Snape mostly just sat at his desk, glowering at everyone until they finished. He did not make eye contact with Harry, but didn't avoid looking at him, either. It was as though Harry were any other Slytherin student.

The practical was completely different. They were to brew a Forgetfulness potion from memory, and Harry's was a bit shaky from it being Thursday and the fact that he had gotten virtually no sleep since Saturday. Snape's looming presence was a permanent reminder of their Saturday night, and Harry's hands shook as he sprinkled mint across the surface of his cauldron. His back was sweating in the June heat, and his vision swam.

A hand was on his, and brought him back to the classroom.

'Potter, get a grip,' Snape hissed, tossing his hand away, his stirring rod clattering back into his cauldron. He carried on down the line as if it were simply a class and not a final exam. 'Next time I let you fail.'

Shaking himself from the contact with Snape, he refocused himself. Harry took up the stirring rod once more and tried to save the potion he'd almost fell asleep on. In the end, it was adequate, and Hermione had beamed at him from across the room, her potion visibly perfect. He grinned at her and gave her a thumbs up.

As he went into his History of Magic exam the next day, the pathetic Defense Against the Dark Arts exam over with, Harry knew the time to confront Quirrell was drawing near.

His scar twinged painfully as he looked across the room at Hermione's bushy head leaning down over her parchment, eager to get to work. Ron's ginger head was not far from her, and he could tell from the set of Ron's shoulders that he would've rather been anywhere else. Then he looked to Draco on his left. Draco was staring at him again.

'You look bloody awful,' Draco whispered. Harry pulled a face, but knew he was right. He hadn't been as diligent with his glamours as usual; he was simply too tired. McGonagall passed by, then, handing out exam parchment and new quills, preventing him from answering further.

Draco was on him the moment they left the exam.

'Potter, what the hell,' he said loudly, bearing down on him in the corridor. 'I haven't seen you all week!'

'I've been... busy,' Harry finished lamely. He hadn't even thought about what he would tell Draco.

'Really? Too busy to sleep?' Draco spat, pulling up in front of him and wrinkling his nose as he surveyed Harry's appearance.

Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

'Can we talk later? How about tonight?'

Visibly fuming, Draco pursed his lips, but nodded. He sensed Harry had a secret, and Draco _loved_ secrets.

They ended up in the Great Hall for a snack and to play games with the other Slytherin first years. It was time to at least _pretend_ he was a student. Blaise and Pansy were playing Exploding Snap next to them and beyond them, Millicent Bulstrode, Crabbe, and Goyle were all playing a simplistic game of hangman where the hangman moved.

Harry and Draco played chess. Draco refused to speak to him beyond the minimum, as if trying to maintain an image of friendship between them for the benefit of the other Slytherins, but Harry knew they were still off. They were into their second game when Harry finally checked the time, casually under the table. If he wanted to be sure he would get to the Stone before Quirrell, he would have to go soon. As Draco caught him in a checkmate, Harry flicked over his king in defeat. It was bad enough losing to Snape, but to a first year? Embarrassing. Stretching casually, Harry got up from the table.

'I think I'll go take a nap,' he said, pretending he was really going to go pout about losing the game to Draco.

He hoped Draco would let him go without a fuss. Blaise and Pansy gave him a wave, but the others ignored him, too involved in their own game, or still not quite accepting him because he was Harry Potter. He was never quite sure about most of the Slytherins.

'I'll go with you,' Draco offered immediately, standing as well. His eyes pierced Harry with their cold righteousness. No, Harry was certainly not going to escape him unscathed. Draco received his own sidelong glances from the others, but didn't seem to notice.

'Draco...' Harry sighed, walking away, but letting Draco trail after him. 'You know that a nap is typically a solo activity, right?'

'As if you would nap, Potter,' Draco scoffed. 'I've seen you dead on your feet and a nap has never crossed your mind before.'

 _Touché_.

Draco grabbed his arm once they made it out of the Great Hall.

'Was it the chess game?' he asked, his voice tight. 'Because you're being an absolute tosser if you can't-'

'That's not it,' Harry assured him, but Draco didn't seem convinced.

'I told you I could teach you,' Draco reminded him grumpily, as they headed for the dungeons.

'I have a teacher already,' Harry groused. One who wasn't eleven.

'Oh, right,' Draco said meaningfully. 'Uncle Sev.'

'Ugh,' Harry said reflexively, making a face. 'Please never call him that in my presence again.'

'So you _do_ still fancy him,' Draco said accusingly. Harry rolled his eyes, even as he felt his cheeks pink.

'Not that it matters,' he said in a clipped tone. 'He's old enough to be my father.'

And now that he knew Harry had a path of death behind him thirteen people deep.

Draco was not put off as they climbed into the Slytherin dormitory.

'He'll still be available after we graduate,' he said confidently. 'Father says he's never been in love his entire life.'

 _Not true_ , thought Harry. But he let it go as they got into their room. He needed his cloak and his flute, but with Draco hanging on his every word, it would be difficult to shake him off.

'So now I'm going to have a nap,' he said, gesturing to his bed.

Draco crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, looking every inch like a future Lucius.

'I sleep naked,' Harry warned, trying to dissuade him.

'So? You want help undressing or something?' Draco smirked, reaching for Harry's robes. Bluff called, Harry panicked, swatting Draco's pale hands away as he stumbled backwards, falling through his bed curtains.

Draco snorted.

'Merlin, you're touchy,' he said, impishly trying not to smile.

Harry glared.

'What is your problem, Potter?' Draco said after an awkward moment of silence between them. 'You know you did well, probably the best in year. Can you relax for once?'

Harry hunched his shoulders. Draco was too astute. Tiny blonde menace.

'Where have you been, anyway?' Draco asked. His anger seemed to have cooled to mild annoyance. 'I'm surprised Uncle Sev-'

Harry sighed and Draco grinned.

'That _Severus_ hasn't already arranged detention for you next September.'

Harry rolled his eyes.

'I don't sleep well.'

Draco nodded. He knew that all too well.

'I've mostly been in the hospital wing. I'm not supposed to take Dreamless Sleep too often,' he said. Just a little white lie to smooth things over. Draco's face became an unattractive mash of knitted eyebrows and half-smile. It was, perhaps, the closest the boy could get to a look of sympathy.

'I have something I need to do,' Harry said at last.

'I'll help-'

'No. I need to do it alone.'

'Yeah?' Draco snarled suddenly, his anger returning in a flash. 'Alone, or with those Weasels and the Mud-'

'Don't you dare!' Harry thundered, standing quickly. But Draco was ignorant to the vastness of Harry's power, and wasn't so easily scared off. He took a step closer, seething.

'Why do I get the feeling that you're about to sneak off to go hang out with them?'

'Draco, this had nothing to do-'

'That's where you've been, isn't it?' Draco accused. 'Wanna-be Gryffindor, Harry Potter!'

Too. Astute.

'I've been in the _hospital wing_ ,' Harry insisted.

'You're always looking for them,' Draco continued hotly, ignoring Harry's protest. 'You always want _Granger_ around. You're always looking for _Weasley_.' He spat their names like epithets. 'I _see_ you!' He seized Harry's shoulders and shook him. 'We're Slytherin, Potter. We need to stick _together_.'

'Why are you so against inter-house friendships?' Harry asked, shrugging Draco off hard.

'Well for one, they're _Gryffindor_ , Potter-'

'Without bringing _that_ into it.'

'Your best friend should be from your own house,' Draco said firmly. 'No matter what house.'

Harry certainly had news for Snape. His best friend had been a Gryffindor. But their friendship had ended in heartache and tragedy. Perhaps Draco was onto something.

'You can stick your neck out for them, Potter, but they will never do the same for you,' Draco said venomously, 'because you are _Slytherin._ '

Harry sat down slowly, feeling defeated.

'Slytherin is the best house,' Draco said confidently, 'but it means that everyone else hates us.'

'Look,' Harry said wearily, 'there's something I have to do, and you cannot get involved.'

Draco folded his arms again, frowning.

'You sound like Severus.'

Harry looked up at Draco, almost offended, but then stopped. He _was_ sounding an awful lot like an adult, wasn't he? He was only trying to protect his young friends from the danger that awaited him beyond the locked door in the third floor corridor. But what would any _rational_ eleven-year-old do? What had _he_ done?

'Then come with me,' Harry said, impetuously, standing once more. He lunged for his trunk, digging to the bottom for his cloak and his flute. He suddenly couldn't help but feel like he was letting Hermione and Ron down. They had been just as shaped by the events at Hogwarts as he had been, simply in different ways. They would not be the same people without it. Draco could also be shaped by events. Perhaps he could be shaped differently.

Draco rolled his eyes.

'Where, Potter?' he asked. 'You've been going on and on about this-'

'An adventure,' Harry said, grinning, thrusting the cloak at Draco. 'Are you coming?'

'Don't be daft,' he said, scowling as he followed Harry out of the dorm.


	25. Friendship and Bravery

**A/N:** Thank you yet again to my wonderful beta reader, TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3), for all her work on this piece. She is a treasure. Brace yourself, this is a bit of a longer chapter. Lots of bits stolen from the book in this one.

* * *

'You want to go _where_?' Hermione asked, looking uncertain. She was reading a large tome, opened neatly in her lap in front of the Gryffindor fire. Fred had let them in, and Draco looked exceedingly uncomfortable, his hands stuffed into his robes as he shifted his weight from side to side, as though allergic to the colour red.

'The third floor corridor,' Harry whispered, bending close to her.

A look of recognition crossed her face.

'Isn't that the one-' she blurted loudly, then lowered her voice, 'the one that's _forbidden_?'

Harry nodded. He could see Ron coming down the staircase from the first year boys' dorm. The one they had once shared.

'Why not,' Harry said, casually. 'Exams are done. Let's have a bit of fun.'

'What kind of fun,' Ron said, inserting himself into the conversation at last. 'Off to get in trouble again?' he said sourly towards Hermione. She gave him a cold look.

'You're beginning to sound a bit like Percy, there, mate,' Harry commented over his shoulder. Hermione snorted.

Ron flushed red, and Draco's eyes darted between them.

'I'll come too, then, if it's just a bit of _fun_ ,' he said hotly. 'Someone's got to keep you in line, Potter.'

Draco groaned loudly.

'Must they _all_ come?'

Harry smirked.

'If they want to.'

He stood, then, Hermione following with a defiant look to Ron, who marched after them angrily.

They agreed to go to dinner first, since Ron complained almost instantly about missing the meal. Harry and Draco sat side-by-side at the Slytherin table, facing Ron and Hermione across the hall, also sitting side-by-side at the Gryffindor table, looking extremely tense. Harry wasn't sure who Draco was enjoying making fun of more: Hermione for having to put up with Ron, or Ron for being Ron. Dumbledore was absent from the staff table, and Quirrell looked incredibly nervous and did not seem to be eating much. Snape sat glowering over the entire hall, his eyes finding Harry more than once.

After dinner, they all reconvened in the Entrance Hall, and – when no one was looking – shrouded themselves in Harry's invisibility cloak. His stomach was a bundle of nerves. He was even more responsible for his friends than his team at work. These were children, not Ministry-trained Aurors. But they had done it once before, so they could do it again.

Outside the third floor corridor, the door was closed and firmly locked; confirmed by Ron trying the handle. He moaned in disappointment.

'Oh, move over,' Hermione snarled, almost elbowing him out from underneath the cloak. ' _Alohomora!_ '

The lock clicked. Harry pushed the door open slowly.

It creaked, and low, rumbling growls met their ears. Fluffy, in all his three-headed glory, rose to his feet in front of them.

'Bloody hell!' Ron squeaked. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm in a vice grip, and Draco seized the back of Harry's robes to hold him back.

All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though they were still invisible under the cloak.

Harry pulled out Hagrid's flute and began to play. It was a simple tune, one he had heard many times in his distant, Muggle childhood. He struggled to play the right notes, unfamiliar as he was with the instrument. Nonetheless, Fluffy's eyes began to droop shut, the sniffing stopped, and the growls ceased. He tottered on his paws and fell to his knees, slumping to the ground, fast asleep at last.

'How did you-' Ron whispered, but Hermione was already ushering them across the floor to the trap door she'd spotted and pointed out, Draco still clutching onto Harry. They reached the door, and Hermione slipped out from underneath the cloak, pulling it off the rest of them. Harry kept playing, though he was starting to feel slightly light-headed.

Ron went for the trap door, and Draco reached for him.

'Are you mad?'

'This is why we're here, isn't it?' Ron hissed back with a glance at Fluffy. He wrenched his arm away from Draco, and pulled the trap door open. 'Want to go first?'

Draco stepped back haughtily.

'That's what Gryffindor stupidity is for,' he spat. Ron made a face, swallowed hard, and dropped down. Hermione gave Draco a glare, and then followed suit. Harry nodded to the trap door, and Draco made a face.

'I wish you wouldn't,' he said, but jumped down. With one last look at Fluffy's sleeping form, Harry jumped as well, playing his last note as he fell.

It was a longer fall than he remembered. He landed into the soft mass of Devil's Snare just as Hermione shrieked.

'Look at you!'

She was turned towards Ron, who was already entangled, and the plant was quickly getting a hold of her and Draco. Harry felt it start to snake around his ankles. Hermione and Draco were able to wrench free. Ron struggled against his bonds, gasping.

'Stop moving!' Hermione barked at him. 'I know what this is – it's Devil's Snare!'

'Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help,' snarled Ron as he leaned back, away from the tendrils aiming for his neck.

'Oh, shut up, Weasley,' Draco snapped. 'It likes damp and dark!' he said to Hermione, his tone slightly panicked.

'Of course!' she said brightly. ' _Lumos!_ '

Indeed, the bright beam of light from Hermione's wand caused the plant to begin retracting off of Ron. Draco followed suit, smugly prying the Devil's Snare off of Harry.

'Lucky _you_ paid attention in Herbology, Draco,' Hermione sniffed with a sidelong glance at Ron.

'This way,' Harry directed them, putting himself between Ron and the others. Their footsteps echoed sharply off the dripping stone walls around them as they journeyed on a gentle slope downwards, and Harry wondered how much deeper the Chamber of Secrets was than this place. He also wondered what its original purpose had been. Surely not just for storing priceless artifacts.

'Can you hear something?' Ron whispered suddenly.

They paused. A soft rustling and clinking sound was coming from up ahead.

'Do you think it's a ghost?' Hermione asked nervously.

'Sounds like wings,' Draco muttered.

'There's light ahead – I can see something moving.'

They reached the end of the passageway and stepped into a brilliantly-lit chamber, the ceiling arching high above them. Harry stood in awe, watching each charmed key float effortlessly above them. Ron mumbled something about birds. Across the room was a heavy door.

'Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?' said Ron.

'Probably,' said Draco, happily. 'You should go first.'

Ron turned and scowled, but Harry stepped forward.

'I will.'

'Don't be a prat, Potter,' Draco said, suddenly serious, grabbing Harry by the elbow. 'Let the Gryffindorks go first.'

'Don't let Slytherin stop you from being brave, Draco,' Harry said, and Draco let him go. He sprinted across the room, and nothing happened. He tried the door, but it was locked. The others followed. Hermione tried the unlocking charm again, but it didn't work.

'Now what?' Ron said. 'Do we go back?'

'These birds... they can't be here just for decoration,' said Hermione.

'They're not birds,' Draco stated firmly, as though he'd known all along, gazing up at them.

'They're keys,' Harry confirmed. 'And we've got to catch the right one.' He nodded to the broomsticks. Draco and Hermione went for them, but Ron looked skeptical.

'For _what_ , exactly?' he said. 'What even _is_ this place? It all seems like a test. We've handled Devil's Snare in class, and now we have to use broomsticks to find a charmed key?' He looked at Draco and Hermione incredulously. 'And none of you are questioning it?' He turned back to Harry. 'What exactly are you leading us into, _Slytherin?_ '

Harry realized two things at once: that he should have prepared his friends more for this instead of expecting them to blindly jump into a magical obstacle course, no questions asked; but also that Dumbledore had somehow convinced the entire Hogwarts staff that an obstacle course that followed the first year curriculum was somehow protection enough for the Philosopher's Stone.

He sighed. Ron and Hermione had leapt with both feet after him the first time because they had all been involved in untangling the mystery of who, why, and how. But Ron was right. They didn't know who they were trying to stop, or why they should care, and how they would accomplish it. Was it too late to tell them?

'Look, Professor Quirrell is in league with Voldemort-' Ron flinched and Draco scowled, '-and he's trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, which is hidden down here.'

All three of them blinked. Then, Hermione broke into a wide grin.

'Professor Dumbledore! He worked in alchemy with Nicolas Flamel!'

'The only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone,' Harry confirmed, smiling at her. Draco crossed his arms.

'The Weasel is right. Why is it up to us? Surely the teachers would be more useful.'

'That's _if_ we believe you,' Ron groused, looking ill at ease with the fact that Draco was agreeing with him.

The keys continued their gentle, tinkling flight above them. Harry felt the seconds slipping away. He shook himself. It was stupid to bring children.

'Fine, if you want to go back, just go,' he snapped, heading for the brooms. But Hermione grabbed his arm.

'Harry, we deserve to know! What is this all about? You said... _Voldemort_?' She said Voldemort in a hushed tone, glancing at the other boys.

'It was silly to drag you into this,' Harry said apologetically, brushing her hand off. 'Really, you should just go.'

But now she put her hands on her hips.

'I am more than willing to follow you, Harry. But I think as your _friends_ ,' she said emphatically, giving Ron a significant look, 'you should have trusted us more. You _can_ trust us more.'

'It's a Slytherin's nature to be distrustful,' Draco jumped in. 'Look at how Weasel-'

'Stop calling me that!' Ron said, heatedly, turning to Harry. 'Why do you hang around him? He's the worst kind-'

'I'd watch your mouth around me, Weasley-'

'Enough!' Harry said, seizing a broomstick. Harry projected as much _adult_ as he could. The others fell silent. Ron turned red, looking down at his feet. Harry handed him the first broom. Dumbfounded, he took it. Harry passed brooms to Hermione and Draco as well. 'We're running out of time. I promise, I _will_ explain. But for now, we need to find the key.'

As Hermione and Draco took to the air, Ron checked the locked door.

'We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one – probably silver, like the handle.'

Draco seized one out of the air as Ron kicked off with his own broom, rushing down to try it in the lock. It wasn't the right one. With a flick of his wand, Harry turned the key bright pink.

'Ha!' Draco said, triumphantly, letting it go and watching it fly up, clearly marked so they wouldn't try it again.

They took to the air again together, and finally, Harry's eyes spotted the one.

'That one!' he called to the others. 'That big one – there – no, there – with bright-blue wings!'

Ron sped off in the direction Harry was pointing, crashed into the ceiling and nearly fell off his broom.

'Careful, Ron!' Harry chided, unable to help himself, as if it had been his daughter, Rose, instead of Ron himself. _Careful, Rosie!_ Harry swallowed hard. _Focus_.

'Ron, you come at it from above – Hermione, stay below and stop it going down – Draco, let's pin it. Right, now!'

Ron dived, Hermione rocketed upwards, and Draco sped towards Harry from across the chamber, the key slowly being herded into the space between all four of them. It dodged at the last moment as Draco reached out and Harry streaked after it, swerving around Draco as he gave a shout of surprise. It sped towards the wall, Harry leant forward and, with a nasty crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand. He flinched at the sensation in his hand. Ron and Hermione cheered. Turning, Harry could see Draco smirking, clapping elegantly as though attending a Muggle golf match.

They landed quickly and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. Its weak effort reminded him somehow of the unicorn, and his stomach sunk to his knees. He slammed his shoulder into the door, trying to hide the fact that he felt unsteady, and rammed the key into the lock, the delicate wings crumpling with the action. His mouth dried, and he felt like he might retch.

But the lock clicked open, and the key room – which had started to feel too small, the air too thin – opened up into a large, dark room. The key took flight back into the chamber, looking significantly worse for wear. They abandoned the brooms, and Draco took the first step into the room. Light flooded the room to reveal McGonagall's giant chess set. Hermione gasped, and Ron gaped, wide-eyed.

Draco turned back.

'Care to explain?'

Harry took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

'Quirrell was on a leave of absence last year, and encountered Voldemort in Albania.'

'And how do _you_ know that?' Draco demanded.

Harry rolled his eyes.

'Because it's _known_ that he went for a vacation in Albania,' Hermione answered for him.

Draco looked satisfied, if not appeased.

'But... You-Know-Who,' Ron said quietly. 'I thought he was gone?'

'No,' Harry said bitterly. 'He didn't have enough human left in him to die.'

Hermione shivered.

'He needs the Philosopher's Stone to regain his strength.'

'The Elixir of Life,' Hermione said softly, and Harry saw the flash of recognition in Draco's eyes.

'You're telling me that the Philosopher's Stone is hidden behind a giant chess set?' Draco asked, incredulous.

'How do we get across?' Hermione asked, her voice low.

'It's obvious, isn't it?' said Ron, gesturing to the game. 'We've got to play our way across the room.'

'And you think you're the one for the job?' Draco sneered.

'He is,' Harry cut in, as Ron's chest puffed in indignation. 'He could beat Severus.'

Draco deflated with a begrudging look at Ron, but Hermione squeaked and Ron choked, coughing several times. Harry ignored the outbursts, and tried to will his blush away. _Why did he say his first name?_

'What's your plan?' he asked Ron. Stepping up, Ron surveyed the board.

'I think we're going to have to be chessmen.'

He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

'Do we – er – have to join you to get across?'

The black knight nodded. Ron turned back to them.

'This wants thinking about...' he said. 'I suppose we've got to take the place of four of the black pieces...'

They all remained quiet - even Draco - as Ron thought.

'Harry, you take the place of that bishop and Hermione, you go next to him instead of that castle.' He considered further. 'Malfoy, take the spot of that knight.'

'What about you?' Draco shot back.

'I'm going to be a knight, too.'

The named chessmen turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board. Uncertainly, they all took their places. Harry knew Ron could win, but a new variable stood to his right: Draco.

'White always plays first in chess,' Ron said, mostly for Hermione's benefit, since he knew that both Harry and Draco could play. 'Yes... look...'

A white pawn moved forward two squares.

Ron started to direct the black pieces, tentatively at first, but with more confidence as Harry and Draco each offered their opinions and support, even if Draco mocked him at the same time.

'Harry – move diagonally four squares to the right.'

A move later, Ron looked pale.

'Malfoy... are you in for it?'

'I'm here, aren't I?' he snarked, his eyes raking the board. At last, he pursed his lips, and Harry could see he had come to the same conclusion as Ron. 'I'll do it.'

'We don't know what will happen!' Ron cautioned, his voice tightening as Draco began to move.

'Shut it,' Draco said, but there was no heat to his words as he found his square. 'Just win the bloody game.'

The white queen came for him, then, smashing him to the floor with her arm and dragging him off the board. Ron's freckles stood out starkly on his face as he watched, and Hermione was hunched over, frozen in a silent scream.

'How could you, Ronald!?' she shrieked at last. 'How _could_ you?'

'Draco will be fine, Hermione,' Harry said confidently. But he could see the bruise developing on his friend's pale face off the side of the board. It shook him; these were children under his care, not a team of competent adult coworkers.

'Had to let it happen,' Ron said, his voice shaky. 'Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on.'

Hermione begrudgingly took the white bishop, but her cheeks sparkled with tears. The game continued, and Harry kept looking over at Draco's still form, his bruise setting in now, dark blue across the side of his face.

'We're nearly there,' Ron muttered suddenly. The board was getting thin and Ron, Hermione, and Harry were among the few black pieces that remained. 'Let me think – let me think...'

Harry could see the thought process shift, and the set in Ron's jaw changed.

'Yes,' he said softly. 'It's the only way... I've got to be taken, too.'

'No!' Hermione shouted.

'That's chess!' Ron snapped at her. 'You've got to make some sacrifices! I take one step forward and she'll take me – that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!'

'But-!' Hermione insisted.

'Do you want to stop Quirrell or not?'

'Ron-'

'Look, if you don't hurry up, you won't get to the Stone!'

Harry let them fight it out. Hermione needed to be heard, and Ron needed to find his Gryffindor feet.

'Ready,' Ron called, his face pale but determined. 'Here I go – now, don't hang around once you've won. We'll be fine.'

Hermione choked as he stepped forward. The white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard around the head with her stone arm and he crashed to the floor – Hermione screamed but stayed on her square – and the white queen dragged Ron off to the side with Draco.

Harry moved three spaces to the left, letting out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding.

The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry's feet. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last look at their unconscious friends, Harry and Hermione charged through the door and up the next passageway.

'Seems a bit too simple, doesn't it?' Hermione muttered as they jogged. 'I mean, aside from the... do you think he'll be...?'

'He'll be all right,' Harry reassured her, though he wasn't entirely sure which boy she was asking after. 'What do you reckon's next?' he asked to distract her.

'We've had Sprout's – Flitwick must've put charms on the keys – McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive – that leaves Quirrell's spell, and Snape's...'

They had reached another door.

'All right?' Harry whispered. Her face was dry now.

'Go on.'

Harry pushed the door open.

A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making both of them pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw a massive troll – bigger than the one Harry had dissected in the girls' toilets – awkwardly get to its feet on the other side of the room.

Hermione moaned low in despair at the sight, and Harry felt a flush of shame. Likely, she was terrified of both the troll and Harry in this moment.

'Go for it,' Harry urged her as the troll came lumbering after them. 'I'll distract him!'

'Harry – what!?'

But Harry darted to the side.

'Oi! You!' He waved his arms and hollered as he ran, and the stinking troll took the bait. He had a club the size of a tree trunk, and swung it at Harry as he ran by. Hermione screamed, and the troll turned.

' _You_ ,' Harry yelled, pointing at Hermione, 'are supposed to be dealing with the troll!' His yelling brought the troll's attention back to himself, and Hermione nodded, looking overwhelmed from across the room.

Harry continued to dart about, shouting randomly to keep the troll interested, but he was being backed into a corner. The escape routes to either side were rapidly closing. The troll was moving in, swinging.

Then, Hermione's voice rang out clear and strong: ' _Locomotor mortis!_ '

The troll's legs suddenly swept together and stuck, and there was nothing the troll could do in time to stop its forward momentum. Swinging its arms – and also the club – it crashed into the corner, and Harry barely avoided being clobbered or squished.

'Wow!' he chortled as he came round to Hermione, who looked nervously proud.

He took her hand and ran them around the troll's squirming towards the door.

Harry pulled open the door and saw the table of potions waiting in the otherwise non-threatening room.

'Snape's!' Hermione said eagerly, stepping up to enter the room, but Harry caught her round the middle and swung her back into the room with the troll.

'I think you should go back for Ron and Draco,' he said seriously. The troll was banging around, unhelpfully loud. She frowned.

'You think they're okay?'

'Yes, but I think they need you more than I do.'

Her face fell a bit, and he nudged her.

'Because they are injured and helplessly unconscious, not because I think I'm better than you at Potions.'

Hermione smiled at that, and tossed her bushy hair over her shoulder.

'I can practice my healing magic on them,' she said with a grin, and stepped away. Something stopped her, though, and she moved back towards Harry, throwing her arms around him.

' _Hermione!_ '

'Harry – you're a great wizard, you know.'

'Thank you,' he said, hugging her back. 'You're an amazing witch, yourself.'

'Me!' said Hermione, sniffing loudly and pulling away, blushing. 'Books! And cleverness!' She laughed. 'Things you have in spades. There are more important things – friendship and bravery – which you _also_ have in spades. Oh Harry, be _careful!_ ' she said earnestly, throwing her arms around him for another hug. He squeezed her, taking great comfort from her familiar embrace. She boldly kissed his cheek as she pulled away, and flushed bright pink.

'Good luck – take care – '

'Go!' Harry urged her. She danced her way around the still-flailing troll, and disappeared through the far door.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and raised an eyebrow at the troll.

He took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. A fire sprang up behind him, deep purple. Black flames shot up in the doorway opposite.

'Here goes...'


	26. Pride Goeth

**A/N:** The last chapters are finished with edits via the wonderful and splendiferous TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3), and there are just enough to post one every day until Christmas. Merry Christmas, readers. Thanks for sticking with it.

Heads up for a bit of extra violence in this chapter.

* * *

The room was quiet. The flames danced silently in their doorways, offering only a slight glimpse of the rooms beyond. Harry sighed, relieved to have only himself to look out for now. Perhaps it had been too much to include Draco in their first year adventure. But what could be made of their relationship if he had done all this not only without him, but with Ron and Hermione instead? Slytherin needed to stick together, as Draco said. Shaking himself, Harry tried clearing his mind in preparation for the tasks ahead. Childhood friend worries could wait.

Harry stepped up to the table. Seven differently-shaped bottles stood in a line. A piece of paper lay next to the bottles, and Harry skimmed it briefly.

 _Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

 _Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

 _One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

 _Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

 _Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

 _Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line,_

 _Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

 _To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

 _First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

 _You will always find some on nettle wine's right side;_

 _Second, different are those that stand at either end,_

 _But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;_

 _Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

 _Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

 _Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

 _Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

He didn't really need to read it closely, he could still remember very well the exchange between Hermione and himself all those years ago. His heart had pounded, but his trust in her had been absolute.

 _'You are sure which is which, aren't you?'_ he had asked.

 _'Positive,'_ she had said. And she _had_ been right, hadn't she? He had gone onwards, and she had gone back to help Ron.

Harry took up the smallest bottle.

But another hand grabbed his wrist from behind. Harry whirled.

It was Snape.

He was frowning at the small bottle in Harry's hand.

'Did you actually read it, or are you simply depending on your idiotically unreliable memory?' His voice was quiet, but his contemptuous expression spoke volumes.

'How did you get in here?' Harry asked, turning. The fire was still there. Snape sneered.

'I brewed all of these myself, how do you _think?_ Oh, that's right...' he breathed coldly. 'You don't.'

Harry turned back to the table, feeling stupid and self-conscious. It felt strange to be so close to Snape after having avoided him for a week, after their last encounter. He was finally getting a taste of how Snape truly felt to be in the same room as him, now that they were alone.

'No,' Snape hissed venomously, 'you didn't think at _all_ when you brought your little friends down here.'

Harry whirled, his face flaming instantly in shame. No one had said a word about the danger he and his friends had been in the first time around, but they had all been children in their first year. This time, he was an adult, leading children recklessly into danger.

'It was important!' Harry insisted, but he knew it was weak even as the words left his mouth. Was it really a sound enough excuse for this?

'And would it still be _important_ if they had been strangled by the Devil's Snare?' Snape spat, looming over him. 'If they had been beaten to death by the troll?' His eyes flicked to the table. 'If they were here, now, and had convinced you that the poison was safe?'

'They didn't, and they weren't!' Harry yelled. 'Hermione figured out your _stupid_ poem the first time! Ron won the chess game _both_ times, and they figured out the Devil's Snare, too! This is an obstacle course for first years, for fuck's sake,' Harry snapped, and Snape suddenly paled and took a step back, his face almost retreating into the curtain of his greasy hair.

'I would never have made it, if it hadn't been for them!' Harry continued, advancing on him. To Harry's surprise, Snape took another step back.

'I suspect you could have done it on your own, _this_ time,' Snape said, but there was no heat behind his words now.

'Yeah, well, they deserved the personal growth,' Harry said sarcastically, heading towards the door and uncorking the bottle.

'Feeling like getting drunk? I thought you were past that, Potter.'

Harry flinched. He disliked his occasional dependence on alcohol, and it was a definite sore spot, especially in the inflamed aftermath of an argument. Scowling, Harry veered toward the table and took the paper off the table again. He placed the small bottle back in line, and went through the riddle carefully. He landed this time on the largest bottle.

'You changed it?'

'I had it written before the start of term in September,' Snape said quietly, his eyes glittering in the shimmering light of the magical fires. 'But once I knew about... _you_...'

Harry sighed to himself. Of course he did. The arse. He shook the large bottle. There was only a couple mouthfuls at the bottom.

'Not very generous,' he quipped, moving to drink it back. But Snape stopped him.

'You are just a boy,' he said, sounded slightly choked, his words stilted. ' _Were_ just a boy,' he corrected. 'You should not have had to be the hero.'

'You would rather me be the villain?' Harry said softly. Snape twitched, but said nothing in rebuttal. He did not pull away. 'I'm not _just a boy_ this time, remember? You said so yourself,' Harry said, pulling the bottle away from Snape. The man reached for it again. 'Snape! It's my destiny!'

'Fuck destiny!' Snape snarled. 'Give me the bottle!'

But Harry swigged it back; all but a single mouthful. Snape glared at him murderously, but then gave a sigh.

He pulled out his invisibility cloak and thrust it at Snape. 'Take this.'

'For what?' Snape asked, his eyes narrowing. He made no move to take the cloak.

Harry made an aggravated sound in his throat, grabbed one of Snape's hands, and stuffed the cloak into it.

'Hermione, Ron, and Draco. They're probably hiding in the chess room. Find them, and keep them safe.'

Snape finally accepted the cloak, his expression relaxing into something Harry couldn't quite discern.

'Stop being so arrogant, Potter. It could be different this time,' he cautioned. Harry nodded. Something was different between them.

'I fully intend it to be,' he said.

Snape watched him turn toward the door, and Harry felt his stomach drop. He looked over his shoulder as he walked through the fire, but Snape was already gone.

* * *

Severus had watched Potter walk through the flames, his shoulders set confidently, from under the invisibility cloak. But instead of going back, he followed Potter, sliding in the door before it closed. He knew, logically, that Quirrell was Potter's simplest adversary. He had defeated him once before, after all, with only a first year's knowledge of magic and spells. But there was one thing for which Potter wasn't accounting.

Hubris.

Potter was expecting him to go backwards, to help Granger as she struggled with the unconscious bodies of Draco and Weasley. But Severus had already stunned her and checked on the two boys. They were all fine, if a little bruised, and had a far better chance at survival if they were neither seen nor heard, camouflaged in the corner under Severus' spellwork.

Potter was his bigger worry.

He had roped his young friends into this fool's errand, and likely felt compelled to keep their threads in his story as close to the original as possible. But there was an entirely different level of responsibility as an adult leading children. Potter was not as earnestly innocent as they, and needed to be held accountable.

He had mentioned that Granger had figured out his riddle the first time. Yet he had obviously sent her back before going through the doorway. Why? What was different?

He cast a silencing charm on his feet as he followed Potter, planting himself in a corner with a clear view of the Mirror of Erised, standing in the centre of the room. Severus watched as Potter duplicated the mirror first with a Gemino Curse, and then used a series of spells to connect their reflective surfaces so that the copy gave the same reflection as the original. It was brilliant. He then moved the real mirror into the shadows of a far corner and disillusioned it. His spell was so powerful, the mirror melted into the background without even a shimmer.

Potter walked around the room slowly, surveying it carefully, and every so often would tap a brick in the wall with his wand, several inches above his own head. Behind the copied mirror, Severus watched him spell a large area with a slipping spell, and then another spell along its edge. Potter stepped back, hands on his hips, looking extremely satisfied.

Setting traps was something Severus had never considered. These traps seemed fairly innocuous. Annoying, perhaps, or a delay tactic so that Potter could regain the upper hand, if he ever required it.

Severus could not help the comparison to the Dark Lord. He was famously paranoid, and defended anything of even slight importance with traps of a furious violence. A poison Severus had once brewed at his request had been placed inside a cabinet and surrounded by a ward that would corrode flesh to bone in an instant if you did not speak both parts of a two-part password. Severus had been intensely glad when the poison was gone, and he had never been forced to choose between grabbing the potion and his own death.

Quirrell entered at last, his expression intense and his pace quick, but he slowed immediately when his eyes landed on Potter, waiting patiently in front of the mirror.

'You!' Quirrell gasped, quite clearly taken aback. Of course he would be surprised. He likely expected to encounter Albus, Minerva, or even himself, Severus thought. Not a first year student, even if it _was_ Harry Potter.

Potter smiled.

'Me.'

Potter stepped to the side, then, clearing a direct path to the mirror, and presented it with a flourish of his hand.

'After you.'

Severus' stomach tightened. Potter was getting cocky, just as he feared. But then, given the types of classes Quirrell taught, he likely had not witnessed Potter's skill and power firsthand. Potter still had the upper hand.

Quirrell looked suspicious as he marched toward the mirror, looking around several times as if expecting the entire Hogwarts staff to leap out from behind pillars and shadows, challenging him to duel. He stopped in front of the mirror, only a few feet from where Potter stood. His eyes were entirely on Potter.

'How-'

'Ah, ah,' Potter chided, waving a finger. 'Daddy is waiting.'

Quirrell froze in shock. Then he sneered and snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Potter. He seemed completely unperturbed. Eyes narrowing at Potter's lack of reaction, Quirrell turned to the mirror.

'That's enough out of you. Now wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror.'

Severus held his breath, waiting for something to happen. Quirrell let out a long breath, and stepped closer to the mirror's glass. His eyes scanned the glass feverishly.

'This mirror is the key to finding the Stone,' Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame with his wand. 'Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... but he's in London... I'll be far away by the time he gets back...'

'You sure will,' Potter quipped. Quirrell glared at him.

'Shut it, you,' he snapped, as he walked around the mirror to look at the back. Severus could see he narrowly avoided the spelled area Potter had created. He then relaxed, slightly. 'I can honestly say I was surprised to see you,' he said conversationally, all traces of stutter gone. Potter's apparent inability to free himself seemed to bolster Quirrell's confidence. 'When it became obvious someone was ahead of me, I had thought that perhaps Severus... He suspected me all along, after all. Tried to frighten me – as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side...'

Severus felt a chill go down his spine. To hear the Dark Lord's name spoken so casually from the lips of one of his servants... he must truly be in a weakened state. But where was he? Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

'I see the Stone... I'm presenting it to my master... but where is it?'

Potter frowned, then. Severus heard the sharp intake of his breath. What was happening? He struggled against his bonds for a moment. Was he in pain?

'I don't understand... is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?'

Quirrell was holding the frame of the mirror, his nose only inches from the glass, eyes searching.

'What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!' Quirrell cried at last, his frustration finally peaking.

A voice answered, a voice that Severus knew all too well. It seemed to originate from Quirrell himself, and with a dawning horror, Severus realized why the man wore the lopsided turban.

'Use the boy... Use the boy...'

Quirrell rounded on Potter, eyes wild.

'Yes – Potter – come here.'

He clapped his hands and the ropes binding Potter fell away. He relaxed, his momentary panic fading quickly. Potter smirked, but either Quirrell didn't see it, or he didn't recognize the danger behind it.

'Come here,' he repeated. 'Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.'

Potter walked towards him, schooling his expression. Quirrell moved in close behind him, and Severus felt a flare of protectiveness. Was it seeing Lily's son so close to the Dark Lord? Or was it simply seeing Potter so close to danger? He willed himself to stay in his corner.

It was totally silent in the chamber as Potter stared into the mirror.

'Well?' Quirrell said, impatiently. 'What do you see?'

'I see myself bringing my dead parents back to life,' Potter said tonelessly. He turned to face Quirrell now, his deadly smirk back in place. 'But... I think this is the wrong stone for that.'

Quirrell gave a strangled yell as he was blasted back from Potter, thrown several feet, landing almost at the foot of the stairs leading down into the chamber. Potter hadn't even drawn his wand yet, and looked obscenely calm as he stepped forward.

But Quirrell was not a servant of the Dark Lord for nothing, and he began firing a barrage of curses and hexes. Potter side stepped most of them, shielding against others. He maintained a mostly defensive stance, which only seemed to frustrate and anger Quirrell further. He was playing with him, proving to Quirrell that he didn't even need to _try_ to best him. After only a few minutes of duelling, Quirrell physically charged him in a rage.

Stepping away from the mirror, Potter ran. Quirrell followed, firing off Dark spells, until he passed by one of Potter's charmed bricks. It shot out from the wall, smacking Quirrell in the side of the face hard, before retracting back into the wall as if nothing had happened. Quirrell was knocked off his feet and fell heavily. Potter stopped running and turned.

'My, that worked rather well, don't you think?' His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent to it. A dark edge.

Quirrell raised his head, the side of his face already swelling.

' _Flipendo!_ ' he barked. Potter was not able to dodge, stuck as he was between a pillar and his own floor trap. He was knocked back, into the slippery zone he had created behind the mirror. Quirrell was fast. He pushed himself up as Potter struggled to right himself.

'God... _dammit!_ ' Potter yelled as he slapped his hand on the floor. He pulled, but it was stuck. He had surrounded the _Glissando_ with a sticking charm. A brilliant idea if he hadn't succumbed to it himself. Adrenaline surged through Severus' system. Potter had run out of traps and was trapped himself. He needed help. Still, Severus had to choose the right moment.

Quirrell was on him, then.

' _Crucio!_ ' he shouted at Potter, spittle and blood flying out of his mouth, his face reddened by rage wherever it wasn't swelling from the strike.

Potter screamed and his body convulsed, wrenching against the arm that was stuck to the floor by his hand. Quirrell stood over him, just out of reach of the spell trap, breathing heavily. He swiped at his face, his hand coming away bloodied. He leaned into the spell, glaring at Potter's twisting form. He let off the spell for only a moment.

'Think you can best me, boy!?' he shrieked at Potter, who immediately started kicking against the slippery floor, slowly inching his body towards the sticky area. His wand spun away across the floor. 'You think you can best Lord _Voldemort!?_ _Crucio!_ '

It was horrendous, watching Potter – in a child's body – be tortured. There was a loud snap of some body part giving in to the strain, and Severus felt something snap inside himself, too. He pulled the cloak off himself and strode towards them.

'Quirrell!' he exploded. The man jumped, the spell broken. Potter sagged against the floor, his eyes glassy and half-open. His wand was a foot away from him, in the middle of the slippery spot, and his entire torso seemed to be stuck to the floor.

'S-S-Severus!' Quirrell stammered, looking around wildly. 'P-P-Potter has been possessed by the D-D-Dark Lord!'

Severus paused. It was a good act, if he hadn't seen the entire lead up. The transformation was instantaneous. The stutter, the rolled shoulders, the deference. The screaming and Potter's strange appearance on the floor could easily be explained by magical possession and the attempt to rid him of a foreign presence. After all, who could claim to know – exactly – what that even looked like, but a professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts?

But he had called him _the Dark Lord_. Only his servants did that.

Nonetheless, Severus decided to go along with it.

'What?' he asked, feigning disbelief. He could see Potter going for his wand, trying to get traction on the charmed floor as he reached. The torture had likely rendered him incapable of freeing himself without his wand.

'I s-s-suspected him from the f-f-first,' Quirrell explained. His face was brutally bruised, puffed, and blood was drying in the corner of his mouth and one of his nostrils. His speech had a strange sound to it. Were his teeth broken? Not quite the innocuous trap, after all.

'Of course,' Severus said slowly. 'It all makes sense now.'

Potter had his wand clenched triumphantly in his fist.

'Impressive that you stopped him,' Severus said, putting a touch of admiration in his words. There was a glint in Quirrell's eye. His wand twitched in his hand.

But Potter was faster. Severus saw the wand movement, saw the harsh syllables form on his lips. He heard nothing beyond Quirrell's scream as he fell.

There was blood everywhere. Quirrell was on his hands and knees, a pool of blood forming around his ankles; tendons, muscle, and skin split wide open. Potter was getting up, having managed to free himself. He was holding his right arm, grimacing as he limped over to Quirrell.

Then Severus was pushed back. He tried to resist and tried to move forward, but was held at bay by an invisible force. No doubt one of Potter's blasted wards.

Kicking Quirrell down viciously, Potter mounted him, grabbing his jaw with his good hand, and moved his face to look him in the eyes. At first, Severus thought Quirrell screamed because of his facial injuries, but then he saw the marks left on Quirrell's skin when Potter moved his hand. Raw and red, with shiny blisters blossoming on his skin like flowers.

'Potter! Stop!' Severus shouted. 'You imbecile!' He was going too far. Quirrell would die at this rate. But Potter paid him no attention. He appeared to be speaking to Quirrell as he repeatedly touched his face, his neck, and his hands – burning hand prints into Quirrell's flesh. But Severus could not hear his words over Quirrell's shrieks of pain. Another voice joined Quirrell's, swelling in volume.

The Dark Lord was screaming, too.

Potter let up at last, scrambling to get off of Quirrell as a small, misty figure rose up out of Quirrell's turban. A face, drawn in a spectre of ghostly pain. The resistance Severus felt disappeared, but his urge to move towards Potter had vanished along with the ward.

' _Harry Potter!_ ' the spectre of the Dark Lord hissed. Potter snarled, and pointed his wand.

' _Expecto Patronum!_ '

A large, brilliant white stag burst out of Potter's wand – his father, Severus recognized heatedly – and charged the apparition. What remained of the Dark Lord fled, chased by Potter's stag, around the chamber and disappearing through a wall.

Quirrell moaned quietly and then his body crumpled, rapidly turning to ash at Potter's feet. Severus went to Potter at last, loathe to touch him, in case whatever burning curse he used on Quirrell was still in effect.

Potter turned to him, but did not meet his eyes. He was staring at the ash and blood at his feet.

'I won't hurt you. It's because... because he was hosting Voldemort.' His voice was quiet and hoarse. Was he shaking?

'It was not a spell?' Severus asked. He could not tear his eyes away from Potter's state: bloodied robes, injured arm – likely broken, and _there_. He saw it again. A tremor.

Potter stared at the palm of his good hand, pale and unmarked.

'More like a state of being. My mother's sacrifice protects me for now. Voldemort cannot physically touch me without suffering great pain. That includes his proxies.' _For now_.

Severus caught the caveat, but did not comment. He was not sure he wanted to know how, exactly, the Dark Lord would overcome Lily's protective magic.

Potter sighed, his hand clutching his arm tightened, and he swayed dangerously.

'Potter!' Severus warned, but he was already falling. He caught him as gently as he could, but there was no avoiding the broken arm. The body in his arms trembled, even unconscious.

A column of flame appeared near the mirror, out of which Albus materialized, holding onto his phoenix.

'Severus!' he said in alarm, surveying the scene. He hurried to his side, his hand reaching for Potter in a desperate clutch, but stopped short of seizing him.

'Oh, Merlin,' he breathed, his bright blue eyes taking in Potter's unconscious form; the cradled arm at an odd angle, the tremor that still shook his small body. He took in the pile of ash, the blood, and the mirror.

Severus felt his arms tighten around Potter protectively as Albus focused his penetrating stare on him. This was a set up. It was a massive experiment, meant entirely to draw the Dark Lord out of the shadows to Hogwarts, and guide Potter down the treacherous path of independence and power to meet him.

'I... tried to do as you asked,' Severus said tightly. 'To not intervene.'

Albus looked at him sharply.

'You were here the whole time?'

'Yes.'

'What did you see?'

'Potter is skilled,' he admitted slowly. Truthfully. 'But he is overconfident in his skill. Quirrell took advantage.'

It was a vague explanation, so Albus would likely search for specifics from Potter himself, later. But for now, it would be enough. But Severus, for some inexplicable reason, found himself unable to keep his mouth shut.

'He almost _died_ , Albus.'

Albus' eyes went to the pool of blood on the floor. Severus did not correct him.

'You intervened.'

Severus bristled, pulling himself up to his full height, despite the fatigue of holding Potter's dead weight.

'I saved his life!' he hissed. 'The Cruciatus, Albus. You tell me how long an eleven-year-old can hold out.'

Potter needed medical attention and rest. It was preposterous that they were even still standing there, so Severus turned to leave. He was fuming.

'Severus... the Stone?'

'Blast the Stone!' Severus snapped. 'Ask him when he wakes up,' he said as he made for the door. ' _If_ he wakes up,' he added, a sinister twist of the knife. Albus didn't have to know that Potter would almost surely be fine. But then, the tremor running through the body in his arms had not let up.


	27. Ammoniacum

A/N: Beta read by super awesome TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3)! The last chapters are finished with edits and there are just enough to post one every day until Christmas. Merry Christmas, readers. Thanks for sticking with it.

* * *

Something black hovered on the edge of his vision. Every time he tried to look directly at it, it seemed to duck out of sight. What was it? It felt safe, despite its sneaky nature. He reached for it, pushing against the feeling of lead in his arm. He felt a slight tremor in his hand, and he pulled it back to his chest self-consciously. Did he go home? Back to his own life?

The rest of the world came slowly into focus, and the scowling face of Severus Snape swam into view above him.

'Welcome back to the land of the living,' he drawled, his quirked eyebrow the only sign that the man was surprised. 'How are you feeling?' Harry slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, but Snape made no move to help. He was sitting in a chair beside Harry's bed, an unmarked book laid spine-up on his thigh.

Harry stared at him. Where was Dumbledore? What did he know? What had Snape told him? His thoughts quickly raced into overdrive.

'How are you feeling?' Snape tried again, the lines in his forehead creasing as his scowl deepened.

Harry frowned, looking at his hands, trying to push thoughts of Dumbledore away. The shaking wasn't as bad as it was in his adult body, but it was still noticeable. He clenched his fists, pushing them into his blankets.

'I'm shaking,' he tried saying, but his voice broke. He had found the lasting effects of extended exposure to the Cruciatus Curse to be embarrassing. Hermione had lectured him over and over that it wasn't something to be ashamed of, it was a sign that he had survived a massive trauma. But to Harry, it was a constant reminder that he was not strong enough. It was only steps above going mad.

Snape sighed, a distinctly throaty sound as he put his book aside and leaned towards Harry, roughly pulling one of Harry's fists out of the bedclothes.

'Look here,' he instructed, unfurling Harry's fist with his potion-stained fingers. He then balanced Harry's palm on his index finger, and the hand shook ever-so-slightly in the air above Harry's lap. 'The tremor is not that severe.'

Harry swallowed hard, torn between staring at Snape's finger touching the middle of his palm, and looking at the concentrated expression on Snape's face.

'I will brew you a tonic, which will help rebuild your damaged nerves.'

Snape dropped his hand then, as though it stung him, leaning back quickly in his chair.

'You are an idiot, but you will be fine,' he stated firmly.

Harry nodded mutely, his hands in his lap, folded into the bedclothes. He owed Snape his life. Again. Still. But this time it rankled him. Snape had saved him countless times as a child, but that was a different dynamic. He had saved him from Quirrell's poison, but that had also been different. This time - trapped by his own spells, dumb with pain, bathed in desperation - his pride was greatly wounded by Snape's act. All that, after Snape had bullied him into revealing his shameful past.

At last Harry emerged from his thoughts and noticed a small pile of gifts left for him at his bedside. Sweets of all kinds, and a single vase of what looked like wildflowers, giving off a faint odour.

'I believe Draco has started you a _fan club_ ,' Snape said sarcastically, noticing his gaze. Harry snorted.

'How long have I been in here?'

'Three days.'

 _Same as last time,_ Harry thought. He had figured it would be longer, given the torture. Perhaps he was just used to it.

Harry held himself, holding his breath, gathering his courage to ask.

'Dumbledore...?'

Something dark glinted in Snape's eyes and he leaned back in.

'I have told him only my side,' he said quietly. 'No doubt he will have questions for you.'

Harry swallowed thickly. That left everything in Harry's hands. It had been Dumbledore who had arrived in the nick of time to pull Quirrell off, last time. He had witnessed the last few, crucial moments of their encounter. No questions were necessary.

'He was here when I woke up last time,' Harry said softly. Snape scowled, leaning back once more.

'I told him that it was only proper that your Head of House attend to you first,' he said shortly. 'Albus can wait his turn.'

Harry snorted.

'I believe it _is_ my turn, Severus,' the amiable voice of Albus Dumbledore said, his face appearing around the corner of the curtain. Snape's eyes turned dark, and rose from his chair to greet Dumbledore.

'Potter is anxious to tell you about the Stone, I imagine,' Snape said evenly. Harry couldn't see through the impenetrable mask that he'd dropped instantly in the presence of the headmaster. Likely Occluding, then. Harry bolstered his own defences.

'Thank you Severus,' Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling as Snape stepped aside, and glided out of the hospital wing. 'How are you feeling, Harry?' he asked, setting himself down in Snape's chair.

'I've been better,' Harry said weakly.

'Yes. Professor Snape tells me that you experienced a rather terrible curse at the hands of Professor Quirrell.'

Harry nodded mutely, wondering how many in the school knew _that_ detail. His eyes wandered once more to the wildflower bouquet on his side table.

'Tokens from your friends and admirers,' Dumbledore said, beaming. 'What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a lavatory seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it.'

Swallowing a laugh, Harry said, 'I'd still like to have it, if that's all right.'

Dumbledore pursed his lips, as if trying to maintain a professional decorum despite being delighted.

'I will see to it,' he assured Harry. 'Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger, and Mr Ronald Weasley will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried.'

'Ron?'

Dumbledore smiled.

'Indeed. It seems you have made quite the impression on him.'

Harry blinked tears away, and Dumbledore let him have a moment.

'I found your duplicate mirror to be quite ingenious,' Dumbledore complimented, to break the silence. 'May I ask how you accomplished it?'

'I used the Gemino Curse, but only to the single effect,' Harry explained. 'Then I used a twinning spell to...'

 _Damn_. Hermione had invented the particular twinning spell he had used, as a way to duplicate the screen on her electronic baby monitor so that both she and Ron could keep an eye on Rose from various locations in their home.

Dumbledore looked impressed, but did not ask further about the twinning spell. Perhaps he knew it was invented, and had merely set that tidbit of information aside for now.

'And the Stone?'

Harry shifted – his arm was nicely healed and very much not broken – and reached under the covers into the pocket of his robes. It was still there. It had dropped into his pocket the first time he had looked at the Mirror of Erised, several minutes before Quirrell had even entered the room. He wondered why his pockets hadn't been turned out. Perhaps Snape had demanded he remain unmolested. Harry smiled for a moment, but then a shiver went down his spine and he shook himself.

He passed it to Dumbledore, who looked – for a fraction of a second – openly relieved. He took it and tucked it into his own pocket.

'Nicolas Flamel?'

'Oh, you know about Nicolas?' Dumbledore said, sounding quite delighted. 'You _did_ do the thing properly, didn't you?' He looked quite self-satisfied. 'Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat and agreed it's all for the best.'

'They'll die, then.'

'Nicolas and Perenelle will die, yes. They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order.'

Harry imagined himself having that power over his own life. The decision to just let it end. That he had done enough, seen enough, had enough. Others supporting his decision. He would never be so free.

'To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible...' Dumbledore said, prattling on into his speech about death. But Harry wasn't young – he was seventeen years older than his body, and his soul felt decades older than that yet. He had seen more in his not-yet-three decades than many wizards saw in a lifetime. But Dumbledore didn't know that. Couldn't know that. Not yet.

'Why do they have to die?'

Dumbledore stopped, looking bemused at Harry's interruption.

'Have to?'

'I'm assuming that someone - be it you, or Nicolas - has made the decision that it is necessary to dispatch the Stone and, hence, let Nicolas and his wife die. They cannot continue to live indefinitely without it, correct?'

Dumbledore opened his mouth a touch, and then closed it, giving Harry a considering look.

'No, they cannot,' he agreed slowly. 'But you must admit, Harry, that its existence puts its owners at constant risk.'

Harry shook his head.

'Nicolas Flamel is what, six-hundred-and-some years old? Surely there have been threats as big as or bigger than Voldemort before?'

A glint shone in Dumbledore's eyes as he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin.

'Yes - in fact, Voldemort has been a threat to them before.'

'So why wasn't it destroyed then? Why now?'

Dumbledore leaned forward, taking a deep breath.

'Perhaps now, Nicolas and Perenelle feel _ready_.'

'I think they should think about it.'

Dumbledore frowned.

'Tell them,' Harry said boldly. 'Tell them Harry Potter says they should reconsider.'

Something twitched in Dumbledore's face, beneath his left eye.

'Will you tell them?'

Nodding, Dumbledore smiled.

'For you, Harry, I will. Perhaps they will change their minds.'

An awkward silence settled between them after their brief power struggle, until Dumbledore left after pilfering one of his Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans – an earwax one, to his dismay. Harry was left alone for the rest of the day, with the exception of the occasional visitor, closely monitored by Madam Pomfrey. Ron and Hermione had come in together, and asked him numerous questions about his confrontation with Quirrell in the chamber; where the Stone had been hidden, what spells Harry had used, and what was to happen now. They didn't ask about what had happened to Quirrell, and Harry didn't tell them about the torture. Madam Pomfrey escorted them out fifteen minutes later, and Harry was left to rest.

Until Draco Malfoy appeared out of thin air next to his bed.

Harry almost shouted in alarm, but Draco clapped an icy hand over his mouth.

'Easy, Potter. It's the only way I could get in.'

Harry shoved him off, but grinned.

'Pomfrey's kind of a tyrant.'

Draco grabbed a box of chocolate frogs off Harry's side table and perched himself on the edge of his bed, helping himself to the candy, leaning away from the smelly bouquet.

'Why would you send me those awful things?' Harry laughed. It was Draco's name on the card.

Draco looked at him incredulously.

'Aren't you supposed to be some kind of prodigy?' he asked, gesturing to the bouquet. Harry shrugged. 'It stinks because it's got ammoniacum in it,' he said in disgust. 'Severus made me bring it.'

'What?' Harry said dumbly, looking at the flowers. Draco sighed, but then grabbed a wide sprig of tiny flowers.

'Ammoniacum, you dolt.' He began sifting through the greenery and flowers to point things out. 'Look, this is catmint. Asphodel. Lavender. Monkshood. Potter, you idiot, they're all potions ingredients!'

Harry felt a flush creep up his face as he stared at the vase of flowers.

'But... they look different when we use them in potions!' he said blankly. Draco rolled his eyes, sitting down on the edge of Harry's bed again.

'Well now you know that you need to go on more walks with Severus when he collects his ingredients. _Before_ he dries them.'

'That's inappropriate,' Harry said at last, gesturing to the vase, resenting its presence now. 'I'm a student!'

Draco rolled his eyes again.

'Relax, Potter. That's why he had _me_ bring you a bouquet of weeds. Nobody would pick up on it.'

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps. None came.

'Severus told me about what happened.'

Draco was staring at him. Harry froze.

'What do you mean?'

'He said Quirrell used an Unforgivable on you.'

Draco was hedging, telling only as much as Harry was willing to wheedle out of him.

He sighed.

'Yeah,' he admitted. Draco swallowed hard, looking away.

After a moment, he spoke again, the box of chocolate frogs lay between them, forgotten.

'How bad was it?'

'Bad.'

Draco looked back at him, cold fire in his gaze.

'But you're just a _kid_ ,' he hissed.

Harry processed Draco's words for a moment, choosing his next words carefully.

'But if I was an adult?' he asked softly. Draco scoffed.

'But you're _not_.'

'But if I _was_.'

'That's not-'

'You've drawn the line at children,' Harry said, heatedly. 'Implying that you think there are adults that deserve it.'

'Aren't there?' Draco spat, jumping up off the bed. 'What about bloody _Quirrell?_ '

'It's too late,' Harry said. 'He's dead.'

Draco turned white, his mouth dropping open.

'Potter... did you-'

The curtain ripped back.

' _Mister_ Malfoy,' Madam Pomfrey said tightly, visibly angry. 'I will not ask exactly how you got in here without my knowing, but only if you vacate immediately.'

Draco knew when he was outgunned and promptly left, scurrying around the curtain and out of the hospital wing, stuffing the invisibility cloak into his robes as he went.

'And as for you,' she said, after watching Draco go through the doors. 'Sleep. Now.'

* * *

The knock on his door roused Severus from his sleep, which surprised him. He was not usually such a light sleeper that the gentle tapping he could barely hear from his bedroom would wake him. It was three in the morning. Knowing somehow that it would be Potter, he sighed. Nonetheless, he went to the door. There was nothing for it; he was awake already.

Potter stood at his door. His eyes were open, pupils blown in the darkness of the corridor.

'You're awake,' he said in mild surprise. Severus held back a snarl.

'What do you want,' he bit out. 'Is Poppy not available?' Potter seemed to be in absolutely no distress or hurry, as if he were completely unaware of the time.

'I need to show you something,' he said, turning into the dark, taking one step out of the rectangle of light that cut sharply into the corridor from Severus' rooms.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing the bait.

'Can it not _wait_ until a more appropriate hour? You should be in the hospital wing.'

Potter turned, his face coming back into the light. He paused uncharacteristically, as if considering Severus' words carefully.

'No,' he said at last, stepping back out into the dark.

Sighing as hard as he could, Severus belted his dressing gown and followed Potter into the corridor.

A small, cold hand took his in the dark, and he jerked. But Potter held him fast, leading him blindly. Severus started getting concerned when he realized they had not yet come across a lit torch, and they had been walking for minutes. Potter's hand disappeared, but Severus could hear his footsteps in the dark, and followed the sound, growing wary.

He entered an empty dungeon classroom. It was lit by a dim blue light, but he was unable to determine the source.

A small figure stood in the centre of the room, and Severus knew it was Potter. He would know that mop of unruly black hair anywhere.

'Potter, what is it?' he asked urgently. Potter turned, and Severus took a step back in alarm. The boy's eyes were glowing white, as if his power were threatening to surge out of him.

'I killed them all,' Potter said in an empty, booming voice that shook the walls around them.

'Stop this at once,' Severus directed. 'You told me it was an accident,' Severus reminded him. Keep him focused. Keep him here. 'Potter, it was an accident.'

'No,' Potter said harshly. 'It wasn't.'

A ghostly apparition developed out of the darkness behind Potter. The ghostly form approached him silently, hands finding Potter's shoulders. It made a low hissing sound. _The Dark Lord._

The spectre of the Dark Lord fell silent then, and Potter rushed at Severus, his cold hands finding his face, gripping his chin like Quirrell's. It scalded like hot water, and Severus screamed through grit teeth as Potter threw him back into the wall. His breath left him in a rush.

'Potter-!' he gasped.

Potter's hand snapped out towards Severus, and a shock wave blasted out from his palm, hitting Severus in the chest and face with bone-shattering force as the rock of the walls of the room exploded around him.

With a shout, Severus sat up in bed, panting. The bedclothes were soaked with his sweat, and he was shaking.


	28. An Auror That Can't Even Apparate

**A/N:** Thanks again to my superb beta reader, TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3). The last chapters are finished with edits and there are just enough to post every day until Christmas. Merry Christmas, readers. Thanks for sticking with it.

* * *

It had been a restless sleep. Madam Pomfrey had come in at about a quarter after three to rouse him from a nightmare and dose him with Dreamless Sleep. She had whispered soothing words, and brushed his sweaty fringe off his forehead after he took the potion, lulling him into a relaxed slumber. He had awoken groggy and confused, and didn't much remember eating his oatmeal in bed. He had gotten dressed by noon, eaten a light lunch, consoled a very distressed Hagrid, and gotten a complete walk-through the dosing schedule of his nerve tonic.

Now, he was nervously making his way down to the end-of-year feast, alone. He had been delayed by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last check-up, muttering about Unforgivables and Dumbledore's priorities, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Ravenclaw colours of blue and bronze, which Harry had never seen before. He couldn't help staring. A huge banner showing the Ravenclaw raven covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everyone started talking at once. He slipped into the seat next to Draco that his friend had motioned him to, an awkward look exchanged between them. Harry tried to ignore the fact that several people had stood up to look at him.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later, and the babble died away.

'Another year gone!' Dumbledore said cheerfully. 'And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...

'Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: in fourth place we have Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; in third and second places, Gryffindor and Slytherin, with three hundred and sixty-two points each; and Ravenclaw have four hundred and fifty-two.'

A storm of cheering – less raucous than Gryffindor or Slytherin might have been – came from the Ravenclaw table, as the Slytherins around Harry booed in response.

'Now, now, Slytherin,' Dumbledore chided. 'Well done, Ravenclaw. However, recent events must be taken into account.'

The room went very still. The Ravenclaws wilted slightly.

'Ahem,' Dumbledore said. 'I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes...

'First – to Mr Ronald Weasley...'

Harry looked over to the Gryffindor table to see Ron look very shocked before he turned very purple in the face.

'...for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.'

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Harry grinned as he watched Percy puff out his chest, bragging to those around him.

At last there was silence again.

'Second – to Miss Hermione Granger... for cleverness and sheer daring in the face of danger, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.'

Harry watched Hermione bury her face into her arms as those surrounding her clapped her eagerly on the back as they cheered. The Gryffindors were beside themselves – they were a hundred points up and now ahead of Ravenclaw.

'Third,' Dumbledore said loudly over the din, and a hush fell instantly, 'to Mr Draco Malfoy, for his fearless loyalty, I award Slytherin house fifty points.'

Slytherin erupted around Harry and Draco, with students from all years reaching over to slap Draco on the shoulder or grasp his hand. He turned fairly pink as he laughed, glowing under the praise.

'You're such a Gryffindork,' Harry said, leaning in, and Draco laughed all the louder.

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent, the air thick with the sense of expectation.

'Finally – to Mr Harry Potter...' Dumbledore paused, the room deadly quietly. Harry saw Snape's eyes as he stared at Dumbledore, superficially just as eager as the rest of the staff and student body, but cold in their depths. 'For pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Slytherin house sixty points.'

The din from Slytherin was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Slytherin now had four hundred and seventy-two points – more than Gryffindor, and more than Ravenclaw. Harry and Malfoy were seized by their Slytherin compatriots, arms thrust into the air victoriously. Draco, cheering along with them, nudged Harry and pointed over at the Gryffindor table, where all of the Gryffindors were looking as though Christmas had been cancelled. All, of course, except Hermione. She was beaming at them like a beacon from across the room, standing as she clapped and cheered for Slytherin. She took a moment to elbow Ron and said something heatedly to him. They watched him clamber to his feet, turning quite red, but clapping alongside her, nonetheless.

'So this means,' Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for Slytherin cheered loud enough to make up for the lack of applause from the other houses, 'for the seventh year running, we need a little change of decoration.'

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the blue hangings became green and the bronze became silver; the soaring Ravenclaw raven vanished and a huge Slytherin serpent took its place. Harry watched as Snape, with a smirk that was somehow empty, shook hands with a furious-looking McGonagall, and Flitwick - whose forced smile looked more like a pained wince. Snorting into his plate, Harry dug into the feast, feeling more at ease than he had in months.

* * *

Minerva had only her first year written exams to mark. She had brewed a fresh pot of Lady Grey tea and had brought out a tin of her favourite shortbread. The first year exams were her treat; simple and straightforward. She poured herself a cup of tea, took out a biscuit, and pulled the stack of parchment towards her. Uncorking her red ink, she smoothed the end of her feather quill against her lips methodically as she flipped through the pages.

Ah, yes. Mr Potter would make a fine first.

As she settled in to read his answers, her feeling of contentment quickly left her.

Potter gave the basic answers, followed by expansive theories, footnotes, and additional information. Minerva had never been forced to double-check an answer for a first year exam before. Even alone in her rooms, she flushed with the heat of embarrassment as she snapped a text shut. _He was_ right, _dammit._ Potter had gone too far.

It did not take long for her to reach Severus' rooms, and it took even less for him to answer the door, but it was all the time she needed to feel overwhelmed by theories and suspicions.

* * *

Severus was comfortable with a book in front of the fire, a finger through his generous glass of Firewhisky, when there was a determined knocking at his door. Clearing his throat and desperately hoping it wasn't a student – especially _that_ student – he went to the door.

'Minerva,' Severus said cordially, feeling himself flush with relief, the alcohol warming his face. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?' She barged past him into his rooms without a word. Sighing lightly, he turned and closed the door.

'I have half a mind to go to Albus,' Minerva said, testily. 'But I wanted the facts, first.'

Severus took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

'Tea or whisky?'

'Whisky,' she said shortly, and Severus took out another glass as she leaned into his kitchen counter.

'What is this about?' Severus asked slowly, passing her a tumbler as he went for his own that he had left beside his chair in front of the hearth.

Minerva tossed back her glass, swallowing it in one. Something must be drastically wrong. She refilled her glass before following him.

'Potter!' she barked. 'What else?'

Severus snorted, resuming his seat and gesturing for her to take the chesterfield. She did, but looked rigid with tension.

'Do you know what your student put on his exam?'

'Something ridiculous, judging by your reaction.'

'He quoted Gamp's Law,' she said, incredulously. 'He gave the full Animagus methodology. He expounded on his own personal theory of what _makes up the unknown variable Z_.'

Severus hadn't been impressed until she had mentioned the last portion. Was Potter only inserting his best educated guess, or had someone actually isolated the unknown variable in transfiguration theory in the future? He felt a bit dizzy.

'The worst part is, he makes a solid case,' she said, laughing into her glass. Her ears had started to pink. 'He went beyond NEWT-level detail. He could teach my classes!' she moaned. ' _Any_ of my classes!'

'I thought he was your star pupil?' Severus tried so hard to keep the smirk out of his voice.

Minerva glared at Severus, who avoided her eyes by staring into the fire.

'He's _your_ pupil,' she groused. Sighing, she swirled the last of her whisky in her glass. 'It tipped the scale, Severus.'

'The scale?'

'He was just a talented student, before. But now...' she looked at him directly, 'now he's something else.'

Severus was still, holding her gaze, but did not answer. He had been expecting this conversation earlier in the year, and now that it was this late, he only wished she'd waited until next year. He was tired of Potter occupying so many of his thoughts. Even his dreams now.

'You suspect something?'

'Don't you?' Minerva said sharply, her eyes narrowing.

'I have,' he admitted. 'But it was unfounded, as you know.'

'Quirinus,' she sighed. Harry Potter's spectacular first year at Hogwarts had truly been the greatest diversion from Quirrell's subterfuge. 'Should I feel foolish, then, for suspecting him now, or for not suspecting him earlier?'

'Likely both,' Severus said. She fixed him with a mock glare.

'What is he?' she asked. 'You're closest to him. Is he really just a... _prodigy_ , Severus?'

Severus exhaled sharply, turning back to the fire. To expound on Potter's true nature would be impossible, though Severus felt a greater need than ever before to simply _tell_ someone.

'I will tell you something, but you must promise not to tell Albus.'

Minerva bristled. Going against Albus was high on her list of worst transgressions. But her curiosity won out. She rolled her eyes.

'Oh, all right.'

'I dosed Potter with Veritaserum once,' he admitted quietly, taking a sip of his drink. It was not all he wanted to tell, but it was enough to relieve the pressure.

'Severus!' Minerva admonished at once. He couldn't help the amused crinkle of his eyes. Her Gryffindor was showing. 'That is... highly illegal! Not to mention... incredibly improper!'

Severus only rolled his eyes. She fidgeted in his silence.

'...and?' she prompted. He looked at her and smirked.

'And he told me his name was Harry James Potter, and that the date of his birth was July thirty-first, nineteen-eighty.'

Minerva deflated against the back of the sofa.

'Just a bloody genius, then!' she surmised. 'Lily would be so proud!'

Severus quirked one of his eyebrows, ignoring the reference to Lily.

'You are aware, I'm sure, that just as there are those who can resist the Imperius Curse, there are those who can resist the effects of Veritaserum?'

'So there's no way to actually know if we've got a genius Harry Potter or a grown wizard in disguise?'

Severus pursed his lips.

'You have tutored him, have you not? Do your lessons not go longer than an hour?'

Minerva nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes.

'Hence, we can surmise that if he can go longer than an hour without consuming anything, he is not disguising himself with Polyjuice.'

Minerva brightened.

'It's true, then!'

'But you and I both know he doesn't belong here,' Severus said darkly.

'What do you mean?'

'He should take his NEWTs and leave,' Severus said shortly. Bitterly. He was adult Harry Potter, not simply a child genius, and he needed to stay at the school to get... whatever he needed to get.

'And do what, at eleven, twelve years of age?' Minerva asked. 'Teach your classes for you?'

Severus frowned.

'He could not teach Potions.'

'Why not?'

'Perhaps fourth year, but no further. He suffers from... deficiencies.'

Minerva laughed, and the joyful sound caused an answering slight upturn in Severus' features.

'Whatever he is, whoever he is,' Severus said at last, 'we will be safer the further away from us he is.'

She sobered quickly at Severus' pronouncement.

'You suspect him still, then?'

'He has inclinations,' Severus said quietly, taking another sip of his drink. 'Inclinations we have seen before in Slytherin. That would, perhaps, be better beaten out of him by the real world instead of incubated by his housemates.' His stomach churned at his words. He was Slytherin, too. He had turned to the Dark Arts, himself. But he had to say it – before someone else did – as either a hypocrite or as someone who had walked those steps before. After all, he was proof that one could turn back. But Potter was already much further along on his path than he had been.

Minerva looked thoughtful, but touched by sadness. Perhaps she was thinking of Lily again, and of his own journey.

'I do not think the headmaster will agree.'

The knot in Severus' stomach hardened. Potter did not want to take his exams. He did not want to leave the school. But Severus didn't want him at the school. He was dangerous, for so many reasons. But he also had the specific goal of taking down the Dark Lord once and for all, and apparently needed items from the school. Severus had to convince Minerva, Albus, and perhaps even himself, to keep Potter at the school, whether through covert, psychological manipulation or plain begging. He hoped to avoid the latter, if possible.

'Let's go see Albus,' Minerva said impulsively. 'The students head back tomorrow.'

Severus frowned at her.

'Can it not wait until next year?'

Minerva set down her tumbler and stood, brushing her robes into shape.

'Of course not,' she said tersely. 'It's a life-changing decision. Potter deserves time to think it over.'

And so, after curfew had fallen, Severus found himself trailing after Minerva through a dark castle in which not a single student would fall asleep before midnight.

'Harry Potter should sit his NEWTs next year,' was the first thing Minerva said. Albus' eyebrows rose into his hair, his garish green robes giving little indication of what he had been up to that evening. Likely reading Muggle literature, Severus thought, as he was known to do over the summers.

'Indeed? And what gives you this impression?'

Minerva smartly flipped Potter's transfiguration exam over, which Albus took, as well as placing a neat little snuff box on the desk. It was beautiful; designed with a fluidly moving image of a tabby cat chasing butterflies over its cover. She hadn't shown it to Severus, and he itched to see Potter's handiwork up close.

'Impressive,' Albus admitted after scanning the first few questions and glancing at the snuff box. His eyes met Severus'. 'And Severus, do you agree?'

It pained him to say it. He knew Potter would feel betrayed. Potter still required several items from within the castle, and if he were forced to graduate, it would limit his ability to retrieve them.

 _But then,_ a little voice whispered deep inside him, _you might have to fetch them_ for _him._

'Yes.'

Looking back and forth between them, the corners of Albus' mouth began twitching.

'You are aware, then, that your colleagues have also made this recommendation?'

Minerva looked startled, and Severus found himself scowling, his skin prickling with suppressed anger. How dare they approach _Albus_ about Potter before _him_ , his Head of House!

'I can see you getting angry already, Severus,' Albus said gently, his eyes twinkling. 'I believe Filius was simply too excited to hold more than one rational thought in his head at a time.'

Severus made no comment, but he did fold his arms tightly across his chest.

'My concern, which I will share with you,' he said, growing serious, 'as Harry's Head of House and my Deputy Headmistress, is that Harry is very young. Impressionable. We have seen that he is also very powerful. I think you know where I am going with this,' he said, with a meaningful look at Severus.

'I think that as a prodigy stuck among his age-peers and not his talent-peers, Potter could potentially turn to questionable practices if only for the challenge,' Minerva said gravely.

'But at twelve, what could he do in the world?' Albus countered, unknowingly parroting her own argument back to her. 'He will not be of age for another five years by the end of his second year.'

'We can keep him here,' Minerva offered. 'He will have the challenges of whatever the staff can throw at him, but we can influence him as colleagues instead of as teachers.'

'You mean him to act as some sort of... teaching assistant?' Severus asked, not sure if he liked or loathed the idea.

Albus looked methodical, tapping his bearded chin.

'The idea has merit. We can only wonder how other brilliant students who drifted astray may have turned out had we employed such tactics, then.'

Severus stiffened at the vague mention of the Dark Lord.

Sitting back, Albus nodded.

'You may posit the taking of his exams, but only if he wishes it,' Albus agreed. 'I will not force the boy from his classes, and certainly not from Hogwarts.'

'But if he takes his exams-' Severus began.

'-then he will still be welcome at Hogwarts. He will remain an underage wizard in the care of a Muggle family. There is really nowhere else for him to go, is there, Severus?'

Severus couldn't help but feel that he'd been had.

* * *

'Mister Potter!'

Despite scanning the crowd for Snape, it was McGonagall that called out for him. Sighing, he let Draco take his trunk, and pushed back through the crowd toward the stern witch, staring him down from over top the heads of his peers. He wished he were at least a little taller. Even as an adult, he barely came eye to eye with her.

'I am privy to all students' grades, Mister Potter,' she said quietly, taking him by the elbow and pulling him even further aside from the masses of students filing through the entrance hall, 'and you did very well indeed.'

'Thank you, Professor.' Harry scanned the crowd and saw Draco still waiting for him, awkwardly stationary by the front doors.

'Your complete attention, if you please, Mister Potter.'

'Yes!' Harry said quickly, turning back to her. 'Sorry, Professor McGonagall.'

'Quite all right. You see, you achieved Outstandings on every single exam.'

Harry hadn't really looked very closely at his grades. The only subject he'd really had to study for had been History of Magic, and he'd merely used his textbook readings as a way to make himself fall asleep at night. Sometimes found it interesting, though, and had to force himself to set the text aside to get some sleep, or flip to the chapter on the Werewolf Codes of Conduct through the ages; it consistently put him out like a light.

'But not only that, several of your teachers, including myself, have reported to the headmaster that your performance exceeded the curriculum standard.'

Harry blinked.

'What does that mean?'

McGonagall smiled at him.

'It's been recommended that you spend next year preparing for your NEWTs.'

The entrance hall disappeared. Harry's entire world focused down to only Professor McGonagall and himself.

'My NEWTs?' he echoed weakly. What happened to six more years? His breath caught in his throat. His chest constricted.

'Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests, of course,' McGonagall said cheerily. 'They are the prerequisite to graduation from Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore believes you have demonstrated the knowledge and power required to take those tests.'

'And if I don't want to?' Harry asked, the words a strain to get out. McGonagall gave him a sympathetic smile.

'Take the summer to think about it.'

She gave his arm an encouraging squeeze, and then cut through the crowd, her expression severe once more as she zeroed in on last minute mischief.

Harry slumped against the wall, the passing students offering him no more than glances and Draco too far away to see him. He couldn't breathe. Nothing would be the same. How could he do this _again_ , not knowing how anything would turn out? His head was spinning. The world was crushing him, squeezing him-

A strong hand was dragging him, along the wall towards the openness of the stairs to the dungeon. Black robes stood in front of him, shielding him from the students.

'She means well,' Snape said, folding his arms. He looked towards the front doors, giving Harry a moment to collect himself.

'I can't graduate-!' he said, his voice panicked, his breath still not going deep enough. Snape's eyes snapped back to him.

'She said _recommended_ , Potter. Don't get hysterical over something you are still in complete control over.'

Harry clung to the words as he took in deeper breaths.

'I don't _have_ to?'

'Of course not,' Snape snapped, looking back over the thinning crowd. 'And there are always options.'

'Of course,' Harry said, feeling ridiculous now, rubbing his hands over his face. 'Of course. Listen, I wanted to talk to you before I left-'

'Potter, you need to go.'

'Fine, just take this, then,' Harry said, stuffing a folded piece of parchment in Snape's hand. Snape recoiled, but took the letter all the same. Harry swallowed his hurt and pushed past him, finding Draco by the door.

'What was that about?' Draco asked, genuinely confused. 'Did you fail?' he asked soberly, a wretched twinkle in his eyes as he handed Harry his things.

Harry mulled over his interactions with McGonagall and Snape as they loaded their trunks into a thestral-drawn carriage.

'They want me to take my NEWTs.'

'Your NEWTs? Are they mad?' Draco asked, aghast. 'Imagine _you_ trying to get a job. An Auror that can't even Apparate,' Draco snorted.

'You think I'd be an Auror?' Harry asked, amazed at the boy's intuition.

'You're Harry Potter,' Draco said, as if this made it obvious. 'You won the House Cup for _pure nerve and outstanding courage_. It's like you were born to be a hero,' he smirked. 'Even if you _were_ sorted into Slytherin.'


	29. A Moth to the Flame

**A/N:** A final, huge, insufficient thank you to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her time, her patience, her skills, and her suggestions in making this story what it is. Without her, we would not be here, at this final chapter. Thank you all for reading, commenting, and encouraging me. Enjoy.

* * *

The students were finally gone, which meant Potter was gone, too. It was a strange feeling. Not a student, and by no means a friend, Potter had simply become a fixture in Severus' life that left him feeling rather at a loss. Worse still was that he could not speak a word of it to Albus nor Minerva, the only two people he could potentially stand to actually call his friends.

He both hated and coveted the position Potter had put him in. He was the keystone to the entire plan to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all; he was Potter's representative in the adult world, and his advocate in the student world. But he knew Potter walked a delicate balance between light and dark, and he now questioned his ability to pull Potter back. He was not just an emotionally tortured ex-Auror. Every time a new piece of information was unveiled, it inevitably lead to another nail in the coffin. Potter was almost certainly a lost cause.

Yet he was the _only_ cause.

Digging out the letter Potter had hastily given him in the entrance hall, Severus unfolded it and smoothed the parchment.

 _Severus,_

 _I do not know what sort of situation I will be facing during the summer. I may have to send my owl, Hedwig, to stay with you. I will likely not make much progress in our quest until school resumes in September._

 _P._

Severus' hand tightened on his glass, the last of the whisky glimmering like an oil slick at the bottom. He had brushed Potter off, and hadn't had any meaningful interaction with him in weeks. Seducing Potter to retrieve information about his past had not been the wisest decision, and he was reluctant to try it again. But there was no denying that it had yielded results.

Sneering, Severus drank the last of his whisky down.

So desperate, so submissive, yet Potter held all the power. Totally disarmed and completely bound, Severus had no doubt Potter could still bend him to his will, or even kill him without a second thought. And here was Potter, feeding him tidbits of information out of context, reeling him into another mystery. It was alluringly intoxicating. That's why Severus had to stay away. Far away.

Potter was a dangerous flame, and Severus felt very much like a moth.

* * *

Harry and Draco shared a compartment. Ron refused to share with them, citing his Gryffindor sensibilities, and though Hermione rolled her eyes at him, she chose to stay with him.

'He needs _someone_ ,' she said patronizingly in a whisper to Harry and Draco.

Lost in his thoughts for most of the train ride, Harry sat quietly looking out the window while Draco talked at him. His plans for the summer, and what he was already looking forward to about their second year.

Namely, Quidditch.

'Higgs graduated, so there's going to be an opening for Seeker,' Draco said. 'I think I'll try out.'

Harry nodded. Quidditch seemed so trivial now. It had for years. It was one of the things he and Ginny used to fight about all the time.

'You're not?' Draco prodded. Harry shrugged.

'It seems like a waste of time. Especially if I decide I want to take my NEWTs.'

Draco scoffed.

'Quidditch is an important wizarding tradition, Potter. Try to keep up.'

He then expounded on the gravity of rooting for the proper team.

'What's your Quidditch team, then?'

'The Chudley Cannons,' Harry said automatically.

'Eugh!' Draco said, repulsed. 'They haven't won anything!'

'Not true,' Harry said. 'They won the League Cup twenty-one times,' he recited confidently, having heard Ron announce it to anyone who would listen since their first year together, 'the last time being in 1892.'

'You're mad,' Draco said, 'if you think _that_ is a team worth following.'

They argued for a while longer, but Harry refused to give in, and Draco simply gave up. They fell into a comfortable silence, but it wasn't long before Draco began to fidget.

'I'm going to see if I can charm Jordan's tarantula into the Weasel's trunk,' Draco said at last. 'You coming?'

Harry shook his head, but also didn't stop Draco. It would be good to see how badly Ron could hex Draco by the end of this year. As Draco disappeared from the compartment, Harry dug into his bag for a quill, ink, and parchment. Smoothing out a small scrap on the seat next to him, he stuck the ink firmly beside it with a spell, and began to write, a small smile spreading across his face.

* * *

Pulling into platform nine and three quarters at King's Cross Station was surreal for Harry. He stared out the window, his heart clenching as he realized the usual faces that expected him would not be there for him. Draco teased him half-heartedly about his oversized jeans and jacket, but Harry's expression silenced him quickly. They met back up with Ron and Hermione after disembarking, and they were wishing Neville Longbottom a gentle farewell.

Harry and Neville locked eyes for a moment before the skittish boy made a beeline for the ticket barrier. He felt a pang of guilt rock him. Had he even said two words to Neville the entire year?

'You must come and stay this summer,' Draco said loudly to Harry, his eyes glancing toward Hermione and Ron.

'Spend my summer with just _you?_ ' Harry commented with a smirk, making significant eye contact with Ron, who snorted. Draco looked furious for a moment, but obviously felt unable to say what he truly felt because he leaned in. 'I'll owl you, Potter. Do not disappoint me.'

He strode past Harry so fast, Harry almost thought he may have truly upset him. But then the blond turned and looked back over his shoulder, shooting Harry a smirk.

'You're welcome to visit us, too, Harry,' Hermione said with a smile. Ron nodded.

'We have plans to visit, you know. Mum'll want to meet you both, I'm sure.'

They passed through the gateway together.

'There he is, Mum, there he is, look!'

It was Ginny, bouncing up and down next to Mrs Weasley, pointing excitedly at Harry. He felt himself flush, smiling in sad remembrance of their ill-fated romance, and the fact that he would never see his Ginny again.

'Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point.'

Mrs Weasley smiled down at the three of them.

'Busy year?' she asked.

'Very,' Harry said, with a wry smile. Hermione grinned next to him.

'Ready, are you?'

It was Uncle Vernon, looking the same as always: still purple-faced, still moustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Harry, being a wizard in public. Hedwig's cage was thankfully empty now, but he still looked odd carrying a large bird cage at a train station. Behind Vernon stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of Harry.

'Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day.' He walked away.

Harry hung back.

'See you over summer, then.'

'Hope you have – er – a good holiday,' said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Vernon.

'Oh, I will,' Harry said, and both Ron and Hermione looked surprised. ' _They_ don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home.' He gave them a wicked smirk as he turned away, and Ron and Hermione dissolved into giggles.

* * *

Remus Lupin was expecting an owl that day, but not the large snowy that tapped on the glass of his kitchen window. He hurried to open it and the regal bird glided in and landed primly on his table, helping herself to some of the toast crusts on his plate. He chuckled and went to her, untying the note attached to her leg and giving her head an affectionate stroke. She clicked her beak, rotated her head in a playful circle and took off, swooping back out the still open kitchen window.

Remus didn't know anyone with a snowy owl, so he hesitantly opened the note. It was written in a careful scrawl, and was left unsigned.

 _I have some information for you on the death of Peter Pettigrew and the betrayal of the Potters. If you are interested, meet me at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream shop tomorrow at one o'clock. I will approach you._

Remus swallowed hard. He thought about it almost every day: the betrayal, the murder. Sirius Black still rotting away in Azkaban, right where he belonged. But most of all, Remus felt the complete loss of his family like a constant wound. The people who had rounded him up and made him one of their own. They were all gone. He hesitated again - he didn't make a habit of going out in public, but he was between jobs and the rush of adrenaline he felt flood his system while reading the note was enough to tell him that he had to go.

The next day, Diagon Alley was, as usual, busy with the end of the lunch rush. Remus fought his way to the ice cream shop and walked in to order something small. As he waited in line, he scanned the shop and a man caught his eye. He had an attractive face and looked vaguely familiar, but Remus could not place him. His shaggy, sandy hair fell roguishly across his left eye.

'Your order, sir?'

'Oh, yes, um-' Remus turned back to the counter, distracted, and stuffed a hand into his robes for a few coins. 'Just a small vanilla, please.'

'Make it a large, and add chocolate,' a voice said beside him. A hand grabbed his wrist, gently but firmly. 'I've got this.'

The man with the sandy hair handed over the coins for his amended order, and gave him a smile, warm blue eyes flashing in delight.

'Hello, Moony.'

Fin.


End file.
